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THE HAWTHORN TREE 



AND OTHER POEMS 



BY / 



NATHAN HASKELL DOLE 



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NEW YORK : 46 East 14TH Street 
THOMAS Y. CROWELL & COMPANY 
BOSTON : 100 PURCHASE Street 



\- 



\ 

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Copyright 


T. Y. CROWELL & CO. 


1895 





Thanks are due to the publishers of The CenUtry, Harper's 
Weekly, The hidependent, The Outlook, The Congregation- 
alist. The Neiv England Magazine, Donahoe's Monthly, 
Life, etc., etc., for permission to include various poems in 
this volume • ....... 



To 

H. B. D. 



CONTENTS 
h 

SONGS 

Page 

THE HAWTHORN TREE 3 

LOVE AND MAYTIME 4 

THE GRANITE CLIFF . . . . . . . . 5 

THE OLD, OLD STORY 5 

THE CLOSE OF A RAINY DAY . . . . . . 6 

MY JOY 7 

WILD ROSES 8 

ARNE'S SONG 9 

ON OGUNQUIT BEACH lO 

THE BROOK II 

THE SERENADERS 1 3 

SERENADE — I I3 

SERENADE — IL I4 

SONG OF THE LONE BIRD . . , . . -15 

AUF WIEDERSEHEN 1 5 



Contents 

Page 

STILL MY HEART IS THINE 1 6 

love's assurance 1 8 

ALL THE BLOSSOMS GREET HER 1 9 

IN MAY MY DREAM CAME TRUE 20 

FERN GHOSTS .21 

A FLIGHT OF HOURS 22 

THE OLD STONE WALL 22 

DREAM MUSIC 23 

CONWAY MEADOWS 25 

SUNSET 25 

SPRING RAPTURE 26 

SUMMER EVENING 27 

SUMMER FLOWERS 28 

AUTUMN IS QUEEN 28 

AUTUMN MORNING 29 

FORETASTE OF WINTER 3O 

AUTUMN SONG 30 

THE LIGHTHOUSE-KEEPER 3 1 

SONGS OF MAIZE 33 

VERS DE SOCIETE 

THE POVERTY PARTY ....... 39 

UNDER THE AWNING 4O 

LONG AGO 42 

vi 



ContmtsJ 

Page 

SHELLING PEAS 43 

CONFESSION 46 

THE BEAU OF THE TOWN 46 

THE PEALING OF THE BELL 48 

BLOWING BUBBLES . » 50 

AMATEUR PHOTOGRAPHY 53 

SPEAKING FEATURES 55 

SCHERZO 5^ 

MEMORIES 56 

HAREBELLS 56 

THE SWALLOW 57 

THE BALTIMORE ORIOLE 58 

MOONSHINE 59 

ON THE STREET 60 

A CAMEO 62 

love's FIRE 63 

LARKS AND NIGHTINGALES 64 

TO CHLOE 65 

ON RETURNING A BORROWED RING 66 

SONNETS 

IN THE OLD COUNTRY CHURCH 7 1 

RUSSIA •72 

vii 



Contents? 

Page 

SIBERIA 73 

TO AN IMPERILLED TRAVELLER 74 

IN THE WILDERNESS 74 

SORROWS 75 

MIDSUMMER NOON 76 

THE TOMB OF TIME 77 

QUESTIONINGS 79 

^OLIAN HARP TONES 8 1 

SAVONAROLA, 1 498 8 1 

ELEGY 82 

THE DREAMERS 84 

BEETHOVEN 85 

THE STORKS 86 

THE REIGN OF SATURN 87 

AT midnight's mystic HOUR 89 

A pagan SONNET 90 

EVENING 91 

IN A CANOE 91 

THE STORM 93 

BREEZES 93 

THE NETHERLAND MARTYRS, I535 . . . . -94 

SPANISH SONNETS 96 

PETRARCA DE SENECTUTE SUA I02 

THE RIVER 103 



Vlll 



Contents; 



PROPHECIES 
HERE AND THERE 



Page 
104 
104 



109 
109 



IN MORE SERIOUS MOOD 

A RUSSIAN FANTASY 

SUNSET FANCIES 

THE PALACE OF PLEASURE 112 

ROCKY NOOK II4 

FROM A BALCONY II6 

AURORA BOREALIS II7 

TWO SUNSETS Hy 

to a beautiful nun ii9 

perverted 122 

the shepherds 122 

fallen petals 1 26 

off gloucester 1 27 

glowing stars 1 27 

discouragement 128 

"as yesterday" i29 

in the park i3o 

man's two wings 130 

if we were to die together i3i 

the broken vow i3i 

ix 



Contents! 

Page 

THE HARMONY DIVINE 1 33 

THE HEART I34 

ON A PICTURE OF SUNSET IN THE ADIRONDACKS . .134 

PEACE 135 

AT MIDNIGHT BY THE SEA 1 35 

THE abbe's dream . I37 

THE DEATH OF AVRAHAM 1 38 

PROPHETS . 141 

A LEGEND OF SAINT ANTHONY . . . . ^ ^43 

AN AUTUMN FRUIT I46 

THE HEROES OF CUTTYHUNK I50 



THE HAWTHORN TREE 

AT the edge of the hedge is a Hawthorn Tree, 
And its blossoms are sweet as sweet can be, 
And the bees are humming there all the day. 
And these are the words that I hear them say : — 
Sweet, sweet is the Hawthorn Tree ! 

All the breezes that breathe o'er those blossoms rare 
A burden of perfume happily bear ; 
And the songsters revel there all day long, 
And these are the words of their merry song : — 
Sweet, sweet is the Hawthorn Tree ! 

And a maid and her lover wander by 
As the twilight glories fade and die ; 
And they pause 'neath the fragrant boughs to rest, 
And above them sways the robin's nest : — 
Sweet, sweet is the Hawthorn Tree ! 

We too, they whisper, shall soon build a home 
'Neath the azure arch of the infinite dome ; 
And we, all the day, shall sing like the birds. 
But with deeper meaning in music and words : — 
Sweet, sweet is the Hawthorn Tree ! 



LOVE AND MAYTIME 

LOVE, gentle Love, I am weary of waiting ! 
_j Why hast thou lingered so long on the way ? 
Birds mid the boskage are wooing and mating. 
It is May ! 

Cold was the winter with snow- plumy pinions, 

Holding our hearts in his insolent sway. 
Now he has gone to his icy dominions. 
It is May ! 

Brooks down the hillsides are leaping and singing ; - 

What makes their laughter so rollicking gay ? 
Why are the hedges with merriment ringing? 
It is May ! 

Love, gentle Love, I would welcome thee gladly, 

Yet far aloof from my roof thou dost stray. 
I cannot sing, for my song would sound sadly. 
It is May ! 

Come, gentle Love, bring me joy without measure, 

Make me thy debtor this jubilant day ! 
Here is my heart in exchange for thy treasure. 
It is May ! It is May ! 



THE GRANITE CLIFF 

ON the granite cliff we stand, 
As the sun is sinking slow ; 
What a wondrous purple glow 
Consecrates the sea and land ! 

Sails upon the changing bay, 
Trees upon the steadfast hills, 
Catch the glory as it thrills 

From the arbiter of day. 

As the glory fades and dies 
On the granite cliff we stand. 
Breathless, speechless, hand in hand, 

Love-light kindled in our eyes. 

Is our love like yonder glow 
Only for a moment's grace ? 
Will it fade and leave no trace 

Save the gray clouds wan and low? 

THE OLD, OLD STORY 

NO wind is stirring. 
There moves no leaf; 
A bird forsaken 

Pours forth her grief. 



The clouds hang heavy 
And darkly lower ; 

The rain-drops patter 
On grass and flower. 

Beneath the maple 
Beyond the glade, 

There come for shelter 
A youth and maid. 

His arm is around her, 
He holds her hands ; 

And what he whispers 
The bird understands ! 



THE CLOSE OF A RAINY DAY 

THE sky was dark and gloomy; 
We heard the sound of the rain 
Dripping from eaves and tossing leaves 
And driving against the pane. 

The clouds hung low o'er the ocean. 

The ocean gray and wan, 
Where one lone sail before the gale 

Like a spirit was driven on. 



The screaming sea-fowl hovered 

Above the boiling main, 
And flapped wide wings in narrowing rings, 

Seeking for rest in vain. 

The sky grew wilder and darker, 

Darker and wilder the sea, 
And night with her dusky pinions 

Swept down in stormy glee. 

Then lo ! from the western heaven 

The veil was rent in twain, 
And a flood of light and glory 

Spread over the heaving main. 

It changed the wave-beat islands 

To Islands of the Blest, 
And the far-off sail like a spirit 

Seemed vanishing into rest. 



MY JOY 



MY joy is like a sparkling stream 
That flows through flowery meadows, 
Whose waters here with sunlight gleam. 
And here are peaceful as a dream. 
Beneath the cooling shadows. 



^ongs? 

My joy is like a wanton stream 

Without a note of sadness, 
And what care I if shallow seem 
The sunny waves that dance and gleam 

And sing their songs of gladness? 



WILD ROSES 



O'ER the wild-rose bush 
Humming-birds hover, 
Butterflies poise on the trembling leaves; 
Delicate petals, 
Parting, discover 
Yellow-thighed honey-bees, — dainty thieves) 

By the wild-rose bush 

Stands a fair maiden, 

Loving the flowers with rapturous eyes; 

Humming-birds vanish, 

Bees, honey laden. 

Dart away swiftly, forsaking their prize. 

Down the cool wood-path, 

Where the lane closes. 

Shaded by maples, rippling with song, 



8 



Comes the fair maiden, 

Laden with roses — 

Bright blooming roses to maidens belong ! 



ARNE'S SONG 



BEYOND the pine-topt hills 
My eager feet would wander; 
What dreams my spirit fills 
Of happy regions yonder ! 
I see the winged clouds float by; 
They sometimes rest upon the hills, 

Upon the pine-topt hills. 
And then they rise and fly 
Beyond the pine-topt hills. 

Beyond the pine-topt hills 

The clouds I fain would follow. 
Oh, how my bosom thrills 

To see the darting swallow ! 
I would delight to leave my herds 
Beneath the shadow of the hills, 

Beneath the pine-topt hills. 
And wander freely as the birds 
Beyond the pine-topt hills. 



"Beyond the pine-topt hills, 

Come, brother," sing the breezes; 
"For flesh obeys what spirit wills, 
And youth has what it pleases ! " 
"Come, brother," says the golden sun, 
And sinks behind the shadowy hills, 

Behind the pine-topt hills. 
And stars at night pass one by one 
Beyond the pine-topt hills. 



ON OGUNQUIT BEACH 

THE restless tide creeps up the sands; 
Like vanishing clouds the ships sail by, 
In eager haste toward beckoning lands 

Across the dark blue sea they fly. 
And standing on the idle shore 

We watch the sea, we watch the sky, 
Changeless and changing evermore — 
We two alone, my love and I. 

Our thoughts are deep, too deep for words : — 

We only with exultant eyes 
Follow the ships which, like great birds, 

Will proudly sail 'neath richer skies. 

lO 



We two would wander far away, 
Where jocund summer never dies, 

Where Love himself, each golden day. 
Holds in his hand some new surprise. 



THE BROOK 



ALL the dreary winter long, 
Heeding not the ice and snow, 
Sang the brook his happy song, 
Hushed and low : — 
"Spring's advancing; 

Winter goes; 
Sunbeams glancing 
Melt the snows. 
Airs entrancing 
South wind blows; 
Brooklet knows ! " 

Tinkling like a crystal bell 

Rung by fairies underground, 
With a sweet mysterious spell 
Did it sound : — 
"Spring returning; 

Joy is near; 
Sweet is yearning; 



II 



Dead is fear; 
Hope is burning 
All the year ! 
Spring is here ! " 

And the willows cold and gray, 

Leaning o'er the ice-bound stream, 
Heard its singing every day 
In a dream : — 
" Pussy willows, 
Sound asleep, 
Wrapt in pillows. 

Warm and deep. 
Life in billows; 
Feel it leap ! 
Can you sleep?" 

From the ground once brown and bare 

Forth the grass begins to look. 
Soft and fragrant is the air; 
Hear the brook : — 
" Birds are singing 

Merry glees; 
Boughs are swinging. 

Mild the breeze; 
Flowers are springing 
On the leas; — 
Just see these ! " 



12 



THE SERENADERS 

THE night wind sleeps, the leaves are still, 
The air is rich with breath of flowers; 
The moonlight creeps along the hill, — 
The waning moon of midnight hours. 

We wake the night with voice of song, 
Beneath the windows of the fair; 

The world is bright, and love is long. 
And youthful hearts are free of care ! 



SERENADE 

THE hour is late, and the moon 
Hangs faint and low o'er the hill, 
The great white stars in the sky 
Are shining calm and still. 

The houses and the street 

Are dark and silent and lone; 

But one light gleams through the night — 
My lady is watching — my own ! 

I lean on the wicket gate. 
And silently breathe a prayer, 

That the angels of the night 
May guard the dear one there. 

13 



S)ong0 

SERENADE 

' '' I ^IS evening, and the month is June 
X Like a golden shield the moon 
Hangs above the dark blue deep; 
Weary winds are lulled to sleep; 
Solemnly the breakers roar 
On the shadowy rock -bound shore: — 
Come with me ! 

Above us tranquil planets shine 
With a witchery divine, 
And the night's mysterious calm 
Seems to pour a peaceful balm 
Over all the sea and land : — 
Come, my maiden, hand in hand, 
Come with me ! 

The languid breeze, with dewy wings. 
Sweet perfume of roses brings; | 
All the air is rich with flowers 
Blooming in the mild night hours; 
All around, below, above. 
Dreams a rapturous dream of love : — 
Come with me ! 



14 



SONG TO THE LONE BIRD 

LONELY bird upon the tree, 
(Ah, the tree has not a leaf !) 
Thou dost sing so mournfully, 
Tell me why thy grief ! 

Lonely bird upon the tree, 
(Ah, the tree is stript and bare !) 
Comes no answer back to thee 
Through the frosty air? 

Lonely bird upon the tree, 
(Ah, the leafless tree is dead !) 
Hast thou but a memory? 
Has thy darling fled? 

Lonely bird upon the tree, 
(Ah, the tree will fall erelong !) 
All the meaning teach to me 
Of thy plaintive song ! 

AUF WIEDERSEHEN 

DIE Nacht enteilt ; der Mond verblasst; 

Im Morgenrof die Wolken gehen ; 
Die gokVne Stund'' flieht ohne Rast : — 

" Auf baldiges Wiedersehen ! " 



15 



Dock muss ich scheiden, liebes Herz ! 

JSIiemand kan7i seinem Loos efitgehen; 
Einen letzten Kuss mit siissem Schmerz 

Und dann: '"'' Auf Wiedersehen ! " 

The hour is late; low hangs the moon; 

The stars are fading from the sky; 
The golden night has sped too soon : — 

How can I say, "Good bye?" 

Yet must I leave thee, dearest Heart ! 

We may not vainly question why; 
One last embrace before we part, 

And then, " Good bye, Good bye ! " 



STILL MY HEART IS THINE 

OH, well do I remember 
How we wandered from the hill, 
And followed down the lonely path 

Beside the singing rill. 
At length we reached the lily pond 

Above the ruined mill. 
And there upon the bank we sat 
Where all was cool and still. 

i6 



The breath of lilies sweet 
Crept round our calm retreat; 
The birds sang carols of love 
And in the branches above 
We heard the locust shrill. 
Ah! Love, 'twas love we found 
In every sight and sound, 
And Love must have his will. 

I know not what we whispered, 

Or if we spoke a word; 
The love song of the universe 

Was sung by every bird, 
And joy was echoed in our hearts 

At every note we heard. 
The music of the waterfall 
The branches lightly stirred. 

The lilies so white and pure 
Told that love would endure 
And youth would ever stay : — 
It seems but yesterday — 
And years have passed away ! 
Vet still thine eyes meet mine, 
I see the lovelight shine 
As tho' it were to-day ! 
And still my heart is thine. 



17 



LOVE'S ASSURANCE 

WHENE'ER I look into thy calm gray eyes 
Thy love smiles to me from their depths 
serene. 
A heaven behind their curtain lies — 
A paradise; 
And there thy soul is seen, 
My queen ! 

Whene'er I hold thy shapely, firm, white hand, 

Its pressure accents what thy words impart. 
Else were it hard to understand. 
In all the land 
None knows what to my heart 
Thou art! 

Whene'er I walk in joyous thought alone 

Thou still art with me, walking by my side. 
The silence hears the very tone 

Whereby thou'rt known 
Across an ocean wide, 

My bride. 

Time cannot, distance cannot, break our bond; 

Here or hereafter thou art only mine; 
If here we part we meet beyond. 

Do not despond; 
Our love in worlds divine 
Shall shine. 

i8 



ALL THE BLOSSOMS GREET HER 

ALL the blossoms greet her 
As she passes by; 
Roses bend to meet her, 

Daisies nod and sigh: — 
" She is far above us, 

No, she will not care; 

Will not stoop to love us — 

Maiden pure and fair." 

As she comes, the thrushes, 

Hidden in the tree. 
Break the noontide hushes 

With their minstrelsy : — 
"Will she deign to hear us? 

No, she will not care; 
Will not venture near us — 

Maiden pure and fair." 

And I wait, half hiding. 

In the bosky lane. 
Shall I speak, confiding 

In a hope that's vain? 
Birds have songs to sing to her, 

Flowers their perfumes bear. 
What have I to bring to her — 

Maiden pure and fair? 



19 



Now she draweth nearer; 

Roses crown her brow, 
All the birds sing clearer - 

They are answered now. 
And her gentle greeting 

Bids me not despair; 
How my heart is beating! 

Maiden pure and fair ! 



IN MAY MY DREAM CAME TRUE 

I SAT by the brimming river; 
Blithe and early was the spring; 
The waters danced and sparkled, 

And I heard the robins sing. 
The south wind stirred the branches 
Of the maples plumed with green, 
And the beauty of the springtime 
Filled with glory all the scene. 

Along the river margin 

Came a maiden pure and fair; 

The sunlight like a halo 

Touched her wayward golden hair, 

20 



The wild flowers bent to greet her 
As her footsteps kissed the grass, 

The wood-birds sang their sweetest 
When they saw the maiden pass. 

I sat by the brimming river 

And I watched its sunny gleams; 
Blue eyes and golden tresses 

Shone responsive in my dreams. 
A voice that spoke like music, 

In a tone my spirit knew, 
Awoke me from my dreaming, — 

And in May my dream came true. 



FERN GHOSTS 



UNDER the brow of Monadnock 
These ferns came up in spring, 
Curled like the crook of a shepherd 
Daintily blossoming. 

Pale, now, and yellow and ghost-like 
They linger like dreams of the past, 

They tell of a radiant summer 
And a love too sweet to last. 



21 



A FLIGHT OF HOURS 

TO-DAY from the south came a flight of hours 
Of golden hours with welcome wings; 
And where they passed grew fragrant flowers, 

And the sunbeams laughed on a thousand springs. 

The gnarled trees on the windy hill 

Put forth a wonder of radiant white; 
The meadow, yesterday bare and still, 

Was suddenly filled with the birds' delight. 

And maidens forgot to be shy and cold 

When they heard the birds, when they saw the 
flowers, 
And many a secret love was told — 

Because of a flight of sunny hours. 

THE OLD STONE WALL 

ACROSS the windy hill. 
And down the gentle valley 
Where the wind is hushed and still, 

And pleasant waters dally. 
Marked by stains of countless rains, 
Green moss and ivy clothing all. 
Stretches out my grandsire's pride — 
The old stone wall. 

22 



How often when a boy, 

When summer days were sunny, 
I sat in idle joy 

And ate my bread and honey. 
High o'erhead the white clouds sped ; 

I heard the black crows caw and calL 
Ah, what a cooling shade it gave — 
The old stone wall. 

And then one starry night 
The homestead I was leaving, 

And life for me shone bright, 

But my sweet lass was grieving: — 

"Do not weep, my troth I'll keep," 
I said to her, "whate'er befall." 

And so we kissed and parted by 
The old stone wall. 



DREAM MUSIC 



AS one who sees a vision 
In the watches of the night, 
A dream of things elysian. 
Of rapturous delight — 
As one whose life ideal 

Comes forth serene and bright. 



23 



g)ong0 

The unreal more than real 

To the quickened second sight — 
Then, waking, has the yearning 

To dream the dream again, 
To know the sweet returning 

Of the form recalled in vain; 
So I awake from my slumbers 

With a vague unrest and pain, 
For strange celestial numbers, 

For a song with a weird refrain. 

It haunts me like a spirit 

From the vast halls of sleep, 
By day I cannot hear it. 

Its words I cannot keep. 
But oh ! if I might word it 

'T would make thee smile and weep. 
With smiles that thou hadst heard it, 

With tears for its pathos deep. 
And when thou hearest the singing 

Of the merriest birds in May, 
Or the solemn church bells ringing 

In minsters far away. 
Then know that richer and sweeter 

Are the words of my roundelay, 
And its harmony completer 

Than any that minstrels play. 



24 



CONWAY MEADOWS 

WE sat mid the bee-haunted clover; 
The field was dancing with light; 
The wind sang under and over 
The bee-haunted blossoms of clover. 
The wind is a wanton rover — 
His heart is free and light. 

We sat mid the blossoming clover 

With the dreamy stream at our feet, 
And the willows bending over, 
And the lengthening mountain shadows 
Came creeping across the meadows — 
Dost thou remember, Sweet? 



SUNSET 



THE setting sun 
O'er cloud and hill 
His golden beams is flinging; 
The day is done. 

The mill is still, 
The robins all are singing. 

Oh, how their bosoms thrill, 
And how the woods are ringing 1 



25 



I sit alone, 

My window near, 
Alone I sit, half dreaming; 
The birds have flown. 

The stars appear, 
I see the mill-pond gleaming; 

The Past is with me here, 
My eyes with tears are streaming. 



SPRING RAPTURE 



THE air is stirred 
By winnowing wings, 
And every bird 

Exulting sings; 
Robin and jay 

With eager throats 
Bring in the day 
With welcome notes. 

Upon the sky 

Soft cloudlets sleep, 
And swallows fly 

From deep to deep; 
The wild geese cry 

In dizzy heights 



26 



And prophesy 

The spring's delights. 

The grass grows green 

On field and hill, 
And buds are seen 

With life to thrill. 
When everything 

Is full of cheer 
I too must sing, 

Tho' no one hear. 



SUMMER EVENING 

THE sky is aglow with colors untold, 
With a triumph of crimson and opal and gold, 
And wavering curtains woven of fire 
Are hung o'er the portals of Day's Desire. 
The sun goes to rest in his western halls 
And over the world the twilight falls. 

The breezes sleep on the grassy pond, 

And shadows rove thro' the grove beyond; 

The robins carol in rapture of love, 

And the martins dart thro' the splendor above. 

Oh twilight marvel ! mysterious hour ! 

Our hearts are swayed like the sea by thy power ! 

27 



SUMMER FLOWERS 

OH summer flowers, sweet summer flowers, 
Too soon ye fade away; 
Ye cannot hold the flying hours 
That make your little day. 

Oh summer flowers, fair summer flowers, 
Laugh while the skies are bright; 

And sip the rich, refreshing showers 
That cool the sultry night. 

Oh summer flowers, gay summer flowers, 

Be fragrant while ye may; 
Sweet while ye last are woodland bowers. 

But soon ye fade away. 



AUTUMN IS QUEEN 

THERE is a lane behind the hill 
That leads to woodlands hushed and still. 
The mossy path, o'er-trailed with vines. 
Slopes gently down 'neath murmuring pines. 
Its shady haunts are green with ferns. 
While now the brilliant maple burns. 
The asters and the goldenrod 
In royal colors proudly nod. 

28 



The barberry flaunts its ruddy fire, 
Red jewels swing from every brier. 
Great purple grapes in clusters hang 
Where late the wood-thrush sweetly sang. 
The Autumn, with her wand of gold, 
Will now her yearly revel hold ! 

AUTUMN MORNING 

THE morning air is chill with rain, 
The sky is clouded o'er, 
The foamy billows dash in vain 
Upon the reef-bound shore. 

The ships sail on across the bay, 

Careening in the wind; 
How brave and full of hope are they 

To leave the port behind ! 

The fisher, in his tossing boat, 

Heeds not the ocean wild; 
Wrapt snugly in his tarry coat 

He dreams of wife and child. 

But I sit lone upon the sands 
And watch the climbing tide; 

I long to fly to distant lands. 
Across the waters wide. 



29 



FORETASTE OF WINTER 

THERE'S a gleam of frost on the meadow, 
And snow on the hill beyond, 
And lightly, like a shadow, 

Lies the feathery ice on the pond. 

There's a chill in the breath of morning, 

A chill in the quiet of noon. 
And from cold gray clouds, like a warning 

Of snow, falls the call of the loon. 

AUTUMN SONG 

THE leaves fall one by one, 
Though the wind is dead and still, 
The gray clouds hide the sun. 
And the autumn air is chill. 

But what care you and I, my love, 

For all the changing weather? 
The darkest clouds may fly, my love. 
If we are still together. 

The birds to the South have flown. 

And their songs have ceased in the land. 

Silent — and bare — and lone 
The trees of the orchard stand. 

30 



But what care you and I, sweetheart, 
And why should moods annoy us ? 

The darkest days will fly, sweetheart, 
For our hearts are always joyous. 

The waves along the shore 

Are breaking upon the rocks. 
With melancholy roar, 

And despair as of battle shocks. 

But what care you and I, my love. 
For waves and gloomy weather? 
The darkest storms will fly, my love, 
And leave our hearts together. 



THE LIGHTHOUSE-KEEPER 

ON a barren isle in the midmost main. 
Where the waves chant ever their wild refrain, 
Uncheered by a tree or a single flower, 
Rises aloft my lonely tower. 

Afar rolls the sea, till it touches the sky; 
Afar the white-winged ships sail by; 
They rise and fall on the restless swell. 
And where they come from who can tell ? 

31 



By day they mark my lonely isle 
By the stately height of my granite pile; 
And at night they see the friendly gleam 
Of my yellow light o'er the billows stream. 

Winter and summer, year on year, 

Have I dwelt on this desert island drear; 

My mate and I have stood by the tower. 

And watched through the long nights, hour by hour. 

Storms have swept from the lowering east. 
The ocean has raged like a maddened beast, 
Treacherous fogs have gathered around, 
And deadened the alarm bell's mournful sound. 



Still by the lighthouse have I staid, 
And when danger pressed my heart has prayed. 
Knowing full well that the Father's hand 
Rules at sea and rules on the land. 

But ah ! when summer days have smiled 
I have longed for the voice of wife and child; 
But never a wife or child have I, 
And a lonely man I shall live and die. 



32 



SONGS OF MAIZE 



OH, sing of the corn — 
Of the yellow Maize, 
How it bends and sways 
In the breeze of morn, 
Tall and noble, with tapering spear, 
Curling leaf and golden ear; 

O'er the length and breadth of this bountiful land, 
Beautiful gift of the Father's hand. 

Fountain of blessings, Maize, to thee ! 
Sing we, bring we our lays to thee ! 
Joyous and eloquent praise to thee ! 
Pagans of triumph we raise to thee ! 
Hail to the corn ! 



Thou wert here to welcome the Pilgrim band 

Tost by the tempest and wearied sore, 
In that tiny bark by Courage manned. 

Guided by Fate to an unknown shore. 
When the Winter raged in his Arctic strength 

And bowed the forests with icy blasts, 
And their scanty stores were spent at length, 

And Death was the meed of their bitter 
fasts — 

33 



Then kernel by kernel the kind corn parched 

And burst from yellow to shell-like white, 

And under the wintry sky that arched 

Like doom above them, they praised God's 
might. 

Ill 

Cast without care 

In rudest rows. 
Wherever the share 

Thro' the clearing goes, 
Tall and fair 

The bright corn grows. 

Hew the trees down ! 

A cabin build ! 
Skies smile or frown. 

Thy land is tilled, 
And the mould rich and brown 

With the Maize is filled ! 



IV 

Skies grow gray; 
Short the day; 
With the sickle reap away I 
Reap the corn; 

34 



Bind in sheaves 
Ears and leaves; 

Rich the harvest man receives; 

It is Plenty's overflowing horn! 

Ripe and dry, 

Pile it high, 
Now the creaking wain goes by 

To the barn ! 

Fields once fair 

Now are bare. 
Only stubble lingers there ! 

On the floor, 

More and more, 
Bustling with the rustling store, 

Lay the corn ! 

Splendid gain ! 

Golden grain 
Flowing from the loaded wain ; 
It is Plenty's overflowing horn! 



Hither 1 merry men and maids ! 

Come at even, young and single ! 
Eyes will sparkle, cheeks will tingle, 

35 



'Tis the Autumn Husking-bee! 

Give your aid ! 

Who 's afraid, 
If a purple ear one see? 

Jocund speech and racy song, 

Ripples of light silvery laughter 
Circling round the dusty rafter; 
Who would ask 
Brighter task 
Than to husk with such a throng? 

Follows now the country dance; 

Strike up, Jerry, with your fiddle ! 
Swiftly up and down the middle 
Gayly skip, 
Smile on lip. 
Youth and maid, retreat, advance ! 

Then along the dusky lane. 

Minding not the nipping weather, 
Shy young couples stroll together. 
Love confest. 
Love is blest 
With the husking of the grain ! 



36 



THE POVERTY PARTY 

AUTUMN it was and the evenings were long; 
Sure it was time for a wee bit of fun; 
Music and dancin' can never be wrong 
When the day's labor is over and done. 
Twenty-four couple we gathered in all 
At the Poverty Party at Papineau's Hall. 

All of us poor folk, but all of us young, 
High beat our hearts with the joy of full lifej 
None of us lads but was secretly stung — 
Stung with the hope of possessin' a wife. 
Never again will such pleasure befall 
At a young people's party at Papineau's Hall. 

Cornet and organ made music divine; 

Smooth was the floor and bright the lamps gleamed; 

Brighter than stars did Peggy's eyes shine; 

She was the lassie of whom my heart dreamed, 

She was the gayest, the belle of the ball. 

At the Poverty Party at Papineau's Hall. 

Waltzes and schottishes, polkas and reels. 
Followed each other like gems on a crown; 
Peggy paid heed to my fervent appeals, 

39 



Ten times or more I wrote her name down. 
And I took her to supper and carried her shawl, 
At the Poverty Party at Papineau's Hall. 

Late was the hour when the party was done, 
Yet the last dance would none of us miss; 
Seein' 'em home was the cream of the fun. 
Peggy — she gave me her first little kiss. 
Now we are old, but we often recall 
The Poverty Party at Papineau's Hall. 



UNDER THE AWNING 

^ ^^T^ WAS a summer evening, cool and charming; 

X Every seat upon the Common held its blissful 
twain; 
Boomed the beetles by them quite alarming. 

And the foliage rustled like the dropping of the 
rain. 

Perfumes from the buds of roses rising 

Woke ecstatic raptures from the rose lips of the 
fair. 
That soft hands were claspt is not surprising. 

Nor that waists were dipt and kisses stolen un- 
aware. 

40 



^er0 De ^otittt 

I too sat with Mary 'neath the awning, 

While the sickle moon with Venus gemmed the 
golden West; 
And I felt the tender passion dawning, 

Like a moonrise o'er the heaving ocean of my 
breast. 

"Dearest Mary, wilt thou be my star, pet? 
Yes, I vow, 'tis thou alone on earth whom I 
adore ! 
When we're married, Mary, not a carpet 

Need we have upon our lovely inlaid wooden 
floor!" 

Ah ! how confidentially we whispered. 

Cheek to cheek, while melancholy toads chirped in 
the trees. 
And our mothers not the slightest lisp heard 

As they sat within the parlor, talking charities. 

Many years are garnered since we planned it, 

That our house should have no carpet on the inlaid 
floor. 
Gentle reader, canst thou understand it? 

I was six then, and my neighbor, Mary, she was 
four. 

41 



LONG AGO 

I REMEMBER the grove near the village 
Which the brook ran murmuring through, 
And the shady retreat by the still edge 
Of the pond where the willows grew. 
In springtime, in summer, I went there — 

I wonder if any one knew 
Of the many long hours that I spent there, 
First with Mary, and then, Maud, with you ! 

The flowers that grew on the hillside 

Seemed fragrant as those of Cathay, 
The breeze o'er the bright daffodils sighed — 

Or were they but buttercups gay? 
The pond the lily-pads covered. 

The lilies gleamed white in the sun, 
And above them the dragon-fly hovered, 

Like the flash of a scintillant pun. 

Ah, Maud, how the birds used to sing there, 

In the trees that kissed overhead ! 
Kissed? We never did any such thing there — 

"'Twas too improper," you said. 
But I brought you gay flowers by the lapful, 

And wove graceful crowns for your hair, 
While you filled the band of my cap full, 

And gave me a garden to wear. 

42 



Oft we sat on the slope (eating sorrel !) 

While the wind in the pine branches sobbed, 
And the mischievous squirrel would quarrel 

With the robin whose nest he had robbed. 
But we thought not of quarrels in those years, 

Nor heeded the sighs of the pine, 
Any more than the chubs mid the osiers 

Ever dreamed of the fish-hook and line ! 



SHELLING PEAS 

(A Summer Idyl.) 

AT the back door of the kitchen, 
Sitting on the foot-worn sill, 
Looking toward the pine woods which in 

Beauty crowned the westward hill, 
Thrilling 'neath the necromancy 
Of the south wind in the trees. 
Sat together Nick and Nancy, 
Eager rivals, shelling peas. 

On the chestnut tree a squirrel 
Chuckled o'er his stolen nut. 

While two robins saw some peril 
(They could not have told you what) 



43 



^ttsi tit ^otittt 

In the actions of a kitten 

Chasing her elusive tail : — 
Other rustic sights, unwritten, 

Charmed them as they stormed the pail. 

Now, while Nancy's peas still held out, 

Nick had reached his very last. 
And with all his panful shelled out 

From his lap the dish he cast, 
Scaring off the careless neighbor's 

Chickens from the strawberry bed, 
Startling Grandma at her labors 

With the butter in the shed. 

Then Nick took from blushing Nancy 

Half the peas as yet unshelled 
(He could in the polished pan see 

Pouting sweet rebellion quelled !) 
And together fingers nimble 

Quickly finished up the work. 
"Look," cried Nick, "here is a symbol! 

In this pod predictions lurk." 

So he broke the smallest pea-pod : 

It contained two little peas. 
"See, my Nancy, we may reap odd 

Stalks of truth from things like these ! 



44 



These two peas are you and I, dear, 
Dwelling in one pod of bliss, 

Cool it looks and green, inside here; 
Would you like a home like this? " 

Round the slender waist of Nancy 

Nick's insinuating sleeve 
With a thrill of joy, I fancy, 

Stole, and waited not for leave. 
And upon her lips he printed 

(In large type) a fervent kiss. 
While a sob from Nancy hinted 

Her deep ecstasy of bliss. 



Hark! the cockerel from the Jones's 

Barnyard sings his loudest lay. 
And the Bantam cock intones his 

Wishes for "the happy day." 
And the half-oblivious couple 

Heed not jibe of beast or bird, 
Or the father coming up hill — 

Is not "Young Love " too absurd? 



45 



Wtt$ tt ^otittt 



CONFESSION 



IT was a charming day, my dear, 
An August day some years ago; 
From me you ran away, my dear, 

Down thro* the shaded walk you know. 
I saw your fluttering drapery 

White mid the sun-fleckt trees like snow. 
I followed to the grapery 
And there I found you all aglow. 

And when I kissed your cheek, my dear, 

To pay you for the way you sped. 
You pursed your lips to speak, my dear; 

Do you remember what you said? 
You said, "I love" — ah! yes, you did, 

Why then, I pray, this tell-tale red? 
You said, " I love " — confess you did ! — 

**'I love sweet grapes ' was what I said." 

THE BEAU OF THE TOWN 

HE once was young and gay, — 
A beau. 
But that was long ago; 

To-day 
He is very old and gray. 

46 



His clothes were once the best; 

His tile 
Was at the top of style; 

His vest 
Was flowered upon his breast. 

He then was tall and slim; 

His eye 
Made all the maidens sigh 

For him. 
It now is bleared and dim. 

He drove a handsome pair 

Of grays, 
And all men sang his praise; 

The "heir" 
Had plenty and to spare. 

He now is poor and lame 

And bent; 
His sunshine friends all went, 

And shame 
To take their places came. 

The flowers upon his vest 

Are rags; 
His coat is torn and sags. 

The rest 
May easily be guessed. 



47 



Wttsi He ^otittt 

His youth was spent in vain; 

His age 
Is like a blotted page; 

His bane 
Was sparkling bright champagne. 

THE PEALING OF THE BELL 

MY little lady went one day 
A-sailing in a yacht 
Upon the waters of the bay — 
'Twas summer time and hot. 

The wind at first had promised well, 
And filled the spinnaker; 

But ere they reached the Point it fell 
The craft seemed not to stir. 

The skipper stood beside the wheel, 
And cocked his weather eye, 

And wet his thumb if he might feel 
A zephyr wandering by. 

And while they drifted with the tide 
A mile or so from shore, 

My little lady multiplied 
Her stock of naval lore. 

48 



Wtts tic §>ociete 

She learned the different kinds of rig 

That on the deep are seen — 
"Hermorphodite" and sloop and brig, 

Schooner and barkentine. 

She learned the terms that so confuse 

A maiden country bred : 
That " sheets " on ships they do not use 

To make a sailor's bed. 

That "come in stays" means merely "tack," 
That booms are said to " jibe " — 

And many more which from the lack 
Of space I can't describe. 

And when a breeze sprang up at last, 

And gently 'gan to sough. 
She gazed at bowsprit and at mast. 

And cried, "She springs her luff !" 

The skipper let her take the wheel, 

And steer the bonny craft; 
How proud the pilot fair did feel! 

How merrily she laughed ! 

Now " starboard " and now " hard-a-port " 

The wheel was swiftly turned. 
(Yes, steering was her special forte, 

I since have surely learned !) 

49 



Wtt$ He ^otittt 

The breeze it blew, the blue waves danced, 

The graceful yacht careened, 
And still the burning sunbeams glanced 

From brow and nose unscreened. 

What wonder that when morning came 

(The cruise a past delight !) 
My fair one's face was all aflame, 

Her dainty nose a sight ! 

But when the cuticle came off 

(Her nose was retrousse) ^ 
I felt inclined to laugh and scoff, 

As fondest lovers may. 

"My dear," said I, "you know full well 

What sore distress I feel, 
And yet *t is proper that a belle 

Like you should sometimes peal." 



BLOWING BUBBLES 

AH ! how far away and dreamy 
Are the summers of my youth; 
Ere I knew that life was seamy. 
Ere I learned the bitter truth. 

50 



Wtt$ tie ^ociete 

Golden-colored, free from troubles 
Were those days of long ago — 

But they vanished like the bubbles 
That we children loved to blow. 

Often to the mossy house-top, 
High among the swaying elms, 

(Where no moment did the boughs stop 
Fencing as for airy realms), 

Would we bring our bowl of water 
And our fragile pipes of clay — 

I and our next neighbor's daughter 
(She is dead now) — little May. 

All around us rival thrushes 
Revelled in the lists of song. 

And the locust in noon hushes 

Shrilled his trumpet loud and long. 

Far above us swept the swallows 
In swift races through the sky, 

Mid the cloud-land hills and hollows, 
Playing hide-and-seek on high. 

Far below us lay the river 
With its placid azure gleam. 

Where the sunbeams all a-quiver 
Scarce disturbed its peaceful dream. 



51 



Every rock and tree and dwelling, 
And the orchard, row by row, 

On the hillside upward swelling. 
Had its counterpart below. 

We could see the shadows racing 

With the sunshine, frown with smile, 

Where the lindens interlacing 
Made a Gothic minster aisle. 

And the quaint unpainted steeple 
Of the church that faced the green 

Seemed to watch the buried people 
Like the guardian of the scene. 

On the house-top sat we gayly 
Blowing bubbles, unconcerned. 

As like vessels fashioned frailly 
Off they sailed and ne'er returned. 

Breezes swept them in derision 
On their brief and brilliant flight; 

Then they vanished from our vision 
Like young hopes of dear delight. 

Still I see that scene before me, 
And the fine old country-seat. 

And remembrance rushes o'er me, 
With its bitter and its sweet. 



52 



Radiant hours of childish pleasures 
Catch the sunlight as ye will, 

Youth and age have different measures, 
But our joys are bubbles still. 



AMATEUR PHOTOGRAPHY 

I FELL in love with Phyllis Browne; 
She was the nicest girl in town. 
Her father had a bank account 
Of a superfluous amount; 
And so the more I thought of it 
The clearer seemed the benefit 
That such a union would confer 
At least on me — perhaps on her. 
For she was pretty ! Such a nose ! 
Such grace of curves ! Such tint of rose ! 
Such sylph-like elegance of pose ! 
Such sunny eyes of heavenly blue, 
With little cherubs peeping through ! 
Such golden bangs ! Oh, every such 
Was the superlative of much ! 

And educated ! She could speak 
Italian, Spanish, Volapuk, 



53 



French, Russian, Swedish, Danish, Dutch, 

Choctaw and Sanskrit, Latin, Greek; 

And every language born of Babel 

To read or speak them she was able. 

So learned, pretty, — rich besides. 

Yes, she would be the gem of brides ! 

And I, tho' poor, had every taste 

The wealth of Croesus would have graced; 

So I resolved to risk my fate 

In winning such an equal mate. 

At first my chances promised fair; 
She met me half-way everywhere; 
Accepted my civilities. 
And sometimes made me ill at ease 
When I, on parting, held her hand. 
And felt that mute "You understand," 
Exprest by just the faintest squeeze. 
(I can not think she was a flirt, 
And yet she did it to my hurt !) 

One day I crost the Rubicon 
And went to win my paragon. 
I rang her door-bell, inly bent 
On knowing if she would consent. 
She sent me down a little note. 
The coolest that she ever wrote. 



54 



Wtt& tit §)octete 

" Excuse me, please, from seeing you, 
I've something else that I must do; 
I'll see you later if we live." 
I asked the footman if he knew 
Why such an answer she should give. 
The servant shrewdly shook his head; 
"She's busy, sir," he gravely said, 
'^Developing a negative." 



SPEAKING FEATURES 

WHENEVER I talk with my sweetheart 
She speaks with her great brown eyes; 
And if (and 'tis often) I'm witty, 
A gladdening smile replies. 

If (rarely) I grow sentimental. 

And out-Romeo Hamlet the Dane, 

With a golden-lined cloud on her forehead 
She frowns me to wisdom again. 

And if I sing her some love song. 

And show all the feeling I can, 
The rose on her cheek is her "Thank you " : — 

Oh, I am a fortunate man! 

55 



Wtt$ De g)ociete 

SCHERZO 

WOULD I keep the "I" from sight? 
Ay, I would blind it. 
For when self I lose aright, 
Then alone I find it. 

MEMORIES 

A FADED flower will touch the key 
Of many a sacred memory : 
A yellowed note, a crumpled glove, 
Will call up visions of young love. 
And make the heart beat fast again 
At sweet remembrance mixt with pain. 

HAREBELLS 

HOW wild the steep along the hill 
Where rocks grow bold and bolder ! 
There harebells grow in fond alliance 
With pine trees looking down like giants, 
And every little crevice fill 
With purple bells that yet are still 
While nodding sweet defiance 
To every chance beholder. 

56 



tBttsi ue ^otittt 



THE SWALLOW 



OF all the birds that swim the air 
I'd rather be the swallow; 
And, summer days, when days were fair, 

I'd follow, follow, follow 
The hurrying clouds across the sky, 
And with the singing winds I'd fly. 

My eager wings should need no rest 

If I were but a swallow; 
I'd scale the highest mountain crest 

And sound the deepest hollow; 
No forest could my pathway hide. 
No ocean plain should be too wide. 

I'd find the sources of the Nile, 
I'd seek the Liukiu Islands, 

Climb Chimborazo's snow-capt pile, 
And Scotland's rugged Highlands; 

I'd skim the sands of Timbuctoo; 

Constantinople's mosques I'd view. 

I'd revel mid the Isles of Greece — 

The pride of old Apollo, 
And circle round the bay of Nice, 

If I were but a swallow. 
And haunt the sunny fields of France — 
The vineyards merry with the dance. 



57 



Wtxsi De §)ociete 

I'd see my shadow in the Rhine 
Dart swiftly like an arrow, 

And catch the breath of eglantine 
Along the braes of Yarrow; 

I'd roam the world and never tire 

If I might have my heart's desire. 



THE BALTIMORE ORIOLE 

ON the elm branch gayly swinging 
Where the tender young leaves curl, 
Sits a Golden Robin singing : — 
" Pretty girl, 

Pretty, pretty, pretty girl." 

All day on the branch above me 
While the purple leaves unfurl, 

He is asking: "Dost thou love me, 
Pretty girl, 

Pretty, pretty, pretty girl?" 

Then he hears his brown mate's answer 
From the hedge that skirts the lane : 

" Catch me, catch me, if you can, sir, 
I can fly, though I am plain." 



58 



But he cares not as he swings there 
Mid the springtime's rush and whirl; 

Still he blithely clings and sings there, 
" Pretty girl, 

Pretty, pretty, pretty girl." 



MOONSHINE 



THE red moon hangs on the sky 
Like the shield of a viking bold, 
And across the ocean waves 
Lies a track of molten gold. 

It leads to the sea-king's realm, 

Beyond our eager sight, 
And there is his palace of pearl 

And his throne of diamond bright. 

His chariot, dolphin-drawn, 

And his Tritons with puffed cheeks, 
Have never come to our shores 

Since the days of the gallant Greeks. 

By the crest of the weed-fringed reefs 

No Naiads comb their hair, 
Nor now do the Sirens sing 

So treacherously fair. 



59 



But follow that path of light 
Beyond the tumbling main, 

And there will the mermaids dance 
And the Sirens sing again. 



ON THE STREET 



AS I walked the street, 
Melancholy, lonely, 
Came the vision sweet 
For a moment only. 

Not a star was out, 

Tho' the day was ended; 
Darkness as of doubt 

From the clouds descended. 

All my work had failed, 
I was worn and weary; 

Skies of joy were veiled. 
Night fell black and dreary. 

Not a soul I knew 

In the mansions splendid; 
Tithes of bitter rue 

In my heart were blended. 



60 



t3m ue ^octete 

Then I caught the gleam 
Of a heavenly vision, 

Brighter than a dream, 
Of a scene elysian. 

'T was a homelike room, 
Rich and warm and cosy; 

Thro' the evening gloom 
Streamed the firelight rosy. 

Children sat around, 
Gladness on their faces; 

There, thought I, abound 
All the Christian graces. 

Then a maiden fair 

Came to draw the curtain. 
Breathless stood I there. 

Trembling and uncertain. 

With her hand upraised 
And her pure face lifted, 

Spirit-like she gazed 

Thro' the darkness rifted. 

Then the curtain fell : 

But that scene of gladness 

Worked a magic spell 
On my cloudy sadness. 



6i 



Framed in rosy light, 

Still that unknown maiden 
Beams upon my sight, 

When with grief I'm laden. 

As I walked the street, 

Melancholy, lonely, 
Came the vision sweet 

For a moment only. 



A CAMEO 



QUEEN PENELOPE all the day. 
Weaves a robe of glistening white; 
"It is almost done," her suitors say, 
"Soon shall we feast on the wedding night.' 
But in silent hours as her tears fall fast. 
She ravels the woof, she begins anew; 
And thus fly the years until at last 
Odysseus comes, her hero true. 

A garment of snow Dame Nature weaves, 
And when at night her spirit grieves 
Her tears melt the woven snow away; 
She begins again on another day. 
The north winds cold are the suitors bold 
But Summer comes ere the year grows old. 



62 



Wtts tie g)ociete 

LOVE'S FIRE 

WHAT a glowing fire 
Young Love kindles 
With the fuel 
Of desire! 
When 't is fairly started 

How he tends it ! 
When it dwindles 

How at first he mends it! 



Is he tender hearted? 
Nay, he's cruel: 

For at last 

When the novelty is past, 
Weary grown 

Of the dying embers, 

He no more remembers 
That the fire was once his own. 



Lets the flashes 
Fade in ashes 

Gray and cold ! 

Young Love soon grows old — 
And that ends it. 



63 



LARKS AND NIGHTINGALES 

ALONE I sit at eventide; 
The twilight glory pales, 
And o'er the meadows far and wide 
Chant pensive bobolinks. 
(One might say nightingales !) 

Song-sparrows warble on the tree, 

I hear the purling brook, 

And from the old "manse o'er the lea" 

Flies slow the cawing crow. 

(In England 'twere a rook!) 

The last faint golden beams of day 

Still glow on cottage panes 

And on their lingering homeward way 

Walk weary laboring men. 

(Oh would that we had swains !) 

From farmyards, down fair rural glades 

Come sounds of tinkling bells. 

And songs of merry brown milkmaids, 

Sweeter than oriole's. 

(Yes, thank you — Philomel's!) 

64 



tBtt^ tie ^ocittt 

I could sit here till morning came, 
All thro' the night hours dark, 
Until I saw the sun's bright flame 
And heard the chickadee. 
(Alas ! we have no lark !) 

We have no leas, no larks, no rooks, 

No swains, no nightingales. 

No singing milkmaids (save in books) 

The poet does his best. 

It is the rhyme that fails ! 



TO CHLOE 



SEE ! I have returned thy picture 
As thou didst request. 
But I hold another, better, 
In my breast. 

If I would, I can not send it; 

It will not depart. 
'Twas thyself who didst engrave it 

On my heart. 



65 



Wtt$ ue ^otittt 

ON RETURNING A BORROWED RING 

IF, while the world lay wrapped in sleep, 
And midnight stars begemmed the sky, 
From some far cavern dark and deep. 

Where delve and toil the Genii, 
My potent will could hither bring 

A giant ready to obey, 
By reason of my lady's ring 

And the strange magic of its sway : — 
What should be then my swift commands? 

What errands should he haste to run? 
What should he bring from Orient lands, 

Or trackless realms beyond the sun? 

Ah ! he should bring me sparkling gems 

In golden caskets chaste and rare. 
And brilliants set in diadems 

To glitter in my lady's hair. 
And every morning in her room 

A jar of roses he should set, 
Awaiting but her smile to bloom 

With fragrant crystal dewdrops wet. 
All should be lavished at her feet 

Without her knowing whence they came. 
And in her joy my love would meet 

A recompense without a name. 

66 



Wtt^ lie g>ociete 

But vain are wishes; rings are vain; 

No talisman wakes magic powers, 
And idle fancies bring but pain 

To lonely hearts in weary hours. 
So I my lady's ring restore : — 

'T is but a band of yellow gold 
Through which I see the world and more 

So much the circlet small can hold ! 
And if to me the Genie came, 

I were his slave (as I am thine !) — 
How could I dare to breathe thy name 

E'en should my longing lips incline? 



67 



^onnetjs 



IN THE OLD COUNTRY CHURCH 

IS it a dream? Am I once more a child? 
In this old church I worshipped long ago ! 
Again I feel the strange, delightful glow 
That filled my young heart with a radiance mild, 
While from the organ-loft the tones, beguiled 
By skilful hands, harmoniously flow, 
Now swelling high, now welling faint and low, 
As tho' harsh discords all were reconciled ! 

Outside, the graceful elm boughs softly sway; 

Thro' the open windows breathes the summer 
breeze; 
And in the hush before the people pray 

I hear the murmur of a myriad bees. 
Is it a dream? Am I a child to-day? 

It verily seems so, as I bow my knees ! 

Ah ! golden hours of childhood gone forever ! 
My brown-eyed, quiet little maiden there 
Who feels but knows not what is meant by prayer 
The time must come when she too will endeavor 
Her weary heart from sad to-days to sever, 

71 



To lift the burden of a present care; 
Then will she to the Father's house repair 
To find sure comfort. May it fail her never ! 

The summer breeze will sweep the cloudless sky; 

The yellow bees will hum among the elmsj 
The mellow organ tones will swell and sigh; 

The priest will speak his words of counsel sweet 
To guide the wandering soul to heavenly realms: 

And thus each age its marvels doth repeat. 



RUSSIA 

" Russia ! Russia ! I behold thee from my wondrous beauti- 
ful distance." — Gogol. 

SATURNIAN mother ! why dost thou devour 
Thy offspring, who by loving thee are curst? 
Why must they fear thee who would fain be first 
To add new glories to thy matchless dower? 
Why must they fiee before thy cruel power, 
That punishes their best as treason's worst — 
The treason that despotic chains would burst — 
That makes men heroes who in slavery cower? 

Upon thy brow the stars of empire burn; 

Thy bearing has a majesty sublime. 
Thy exiled children ever toward thee yearn; 

72 



Nor should their ardent love be deemed a crime. 
O, mighty mother of men, to mildness turn, 
And haste the advent of a happier time ! 



SIBERIA 

" A LL hope forego, O ye who enter here ! " 
/~\ Here winds are sweet with breath of myriad 

flowers, 
The skies arch blue o'er lands of richest dowers, 

And all the fairest gifts of earth appear. 

All hope forego ? Why, surely hope, not fear. 
Should view this land, whose belting Ural towers 
With wealth of gold and precious stones, and 
powers 

Of mighty rivers winding far and near ! 

Yet look ! What mean those melancholy trains 
Of desperate men and sad-eyed women, looking 
back 
To bid that awful bourne a last farewell? 
O hear those groans, those sighs, those clanking 
chains. 
As on they drag along the hopeless track 

That leads, if not to death, to worse than hell ! 

7Z 



TO AN IMPERILLED TRAVELLER 

UNFLINCHING Dante of a later day, 
Thou who hast wandered thro' the realms of 
pain 
And seen with aching breast and whirling brain 
Woes which thou wert unable to allay, 
What frightful visions hast thou brought away : 

Of torments, passions, agonies, struggles vain 
To break the prison walls, to rend the chain — 
Of hopeless hearts too desperate to pray ! 

Men are the devils of that pitiless hell ! 

Men guard the labyrinth of that ninefold curse ! 

Marvel of marvels ! Thou hast lived to tell, 
In prose more sorrowful than Dante's verse. 

Of pangs more grievous, sufferings more fell, 

Than Dante or his master dared rehearse ! 



IN THE WILDERNESS 

AS one who, wandering thro' some tropic land, 
Content with all the tropic's languorous ease. 
Amid the tangled maze of giant trees 
Chances on ruined temples, vast and grand, 

74 



On broken sculpture hurled on every hand, — 
The fallen column and the crumbling frieze, — ^ 
By man abandoned countless centuries. 

And marvels and can only silent stand, — 

So I, rejoicing in thy sunny heart, 

Loving the danger of thy radiant eyes, 
Have heedless strayed into a realm apart, 
Deep hidden in thy life, — a ruined realm 
Of joys and hopes which years with death o'er- 
whelm, — 
And sorrow fills me with a dumb surprise. 

SORROWS 

THE clouds which fleecy are and silver-lined, 
As high above us joyfully they fly. 
And seem like living creatures in the sky, 
Sporting and racing with the free, glad wind. 
When near us are but mists, damp and unkind. 
Which gloom the azure heaven, and coldly lie 
Upon the hills and fill the valleys. Ay, 
Thus sorrows are within the human mind. 

For other's woes are tinted with romance; 

We watch them from afar and feel them not. 
Excepting as they shade the sun by chance, 

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And add new zest to our delightful lot. 
But let them on us like a storm advance, 
How swiftly then our gladness do they blot ! 

MIDSUMMER NOON 

I 

BENEATH the noontide sun the valleys lie, 
Swooning with heat and full of golden light; 
The swift-winged swallows cease their busy flight, 
Slow shadows across the dreamy landscape fly, 
As fleecy clouds drift o'er the azure sky. 
The robins sing no longer in the trees; 
From the wild alder floats the hum of bees; 
A locust shrills upon the elm near by. 

The sweet-toned bell up in the square church tower 
Breaks on the silence, and the wooded hills 

Repeat the sound, which of the resting hour 
To mowers laboring in the hay-fields tells; 

Hanging upon some low-limbed tree the scythe, 

To lunch they hasten, weary and yet blithe. 

II 

Beneath the shadow of an old oak tree. 
My friend and I lie on the velvet grass : 
Amid the leaves the whispering breezes pass. 

And the small crickets chirp incessantly. 

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g)onnet0 

The distant, cloud-like mountains we can see, 
Heaped on the west in deep diaphanous mass; 
And at our feet — a living sea of glass — 

The pond is sleeping in tranquillity. 

Silent we are. The calmness of the scene, 
The quiet beauty of the summer day, 
Says more than any words that we can say. 

Silence means more to us than speech can mean. 

'Tis joy enough against the oak to lean, 
And dream the perfect hours of peace away. 



THE TOMB OF TIME 



IT was the midnight hour. I stood alone 
Beneath the stars in a deserted land, 
Where cold winds swept across the wastes of sand. 
Amongst the meagre herbage making moan. 
I saw a pyramid of polished stone, 

Black as the blackest ebony, and grand 
As though it had been built by God's own hand; 
A gloomy temple Death might call his own. 

A portal was upon the northern side. 
And fiery letters in an unknown tongue; 

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bonnets? 

And from the arch a flaming censer hung, 
Which threw a baleful radiance far and wide. 

I saw the massive gates were open flung, — 
I wished to enter, but my courage died. 



And as I pondered trembling, lo ! there came 

Across the yellow sands a solemn throng; 

The air was burdened with a mournful song, 
And torches, flaming with a ghostly flame. 
Weird shadows cast upon an ebon frame. 

Whereon a coffln lay with trappings hung. 

With slow and solemn tread they moved along, 
And reached the portal of the mystic name. 

They entered and I followed. With a clang 
The gates shut to, and thro' the vaulted hall 

The awful echoes, thundering, rang and rang, 
And died away in tones funereal. 
Then on my ear did saddening music fall, 

And tear-choked voices with an organ sang. 

Ill 

A dirge they sang unto the year just dead, — 

The old year which had reached the Tomb of Time. 
I heard the organ and the voices chime. 

But not a dead year lifted up his head. 



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bonnets? 

Silent they lay as when they first were laid, 
With all their records of good deeds or crime, 
In niches fated by a Fate sublime; 

For Fate by even Time must be obeyed. 

I saw them lying there, all cold and still 
Each in his place, — dead years, the vanished past. 
I saw the places kept for coming years 
Where crownless they should lie beside their peers. 
And lo ! I saw there was one less to fill. 
For in his place the Old Year lay at last. 



QUESTIONINGS 

THE PESSIMISTIC ANNIHILATIONIST 

FETTERED to earth and powerless to fly, 
I envy those white clouds with wide-stretched 
wings. 
Who, scornful of us earth-born, grovelling things, 
Exult in all the freedom of the sky. 
For what of liberty have such as I ? 
What is the comfort aspiration brings. 
And what the glory that the poet sings? 
What can man do but lay him down and die ? 

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g>onnetsf 

On all sides are we closely hedged about. 

We know not such a boon as liberty. 

Fools we ! to dream of ever being free. 
Our highest aspirations end in doubt. 

Our so-called glory is a mockery; 
And Death itself is but a blotting out. 



THE PANTHEIST 

What! Death a blotting out? Yes, thou art right; 

But so the stars are blotted out at morn, 

When in the east the joyous Day is born, 
And from her presence flees the gloomy Night. 
The stars are lost in more effulgent light. 

And what is life on earth but night forlorn? 

So when the day of death comes, Night is shorn 
Of its small glory by Day's greater might. 

Dost thou not think that over all is One — 
A God, who rules amid the seeming rout. 

Who curves the steadfast circle of the sun. 
And whirls the myriad flaming worlds about? 

Canst thou, then, think thy life forever done, 
Because at death thy candle seems put out? 



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^OLIAN HARP TONES 

" solvitur acris hyejnps grata vice veris et favoni.^^ 

THE south wind thro' my open window blows. 
It trembles into music on the strings 
Of an yEolian harp, and sweetly sings 
A quaint and mystic song, which louder grows. 
Then dies away, until so soft it flows. 

We hardly hear it. And the voice is Spring's! 
She to the waiting Northland comes ! She brings 
The modest Mayflower and the fragile rose ! 

E'en now the birds among the trees are flying, 
And now the willows clothe themselves in green, 
And many a crocus in the field is seen. 

Far off unseen we hear the wild goose crying. 

The world is filled with Spring's own smile serene; 

For thus she greets us, swiftly hither hieing ! 

SAVONAROLA, 1498 

AS on some noble mountain height I stand 
And see the promise of a golden day. 
While still the vales below are cold and gray. 
And night hangs brooding o'er a sleeping land. 

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bonnets? 

I, conscious of the glory near at hand, 
With burning eyes of faith, exultant, stay 
To catch the first glimpse of the godlike ray 

Ere down the mount it leaps in progress grand. 

Awake, ye dormant nations, now awake ! 

Behold the sun of Truth is risen on high ! 
Out from the bonds of superstition break. 

And claim the splendid prize of liberty! 
Forget the dead past for the future's sake; 

Where falls the broken tree, there let it lie ! 

ELEGY 

I 

THE air is full of mournful melodies. 
As if the birds had left a song behind — 
A requiem which the melancholy wind, 
Transforming to ^olian harmonies, 
Repeats in whispers to the sobbing trees. 
Hark to the elegy of unwept tears — 
Of struggling hopes and of despairing fears — 
A poem played in tender minor keys. 

The summer days are gone — the birds are fled. 
Upon the field and hill the grass is brown. 
The yellow leaves come fluttering softly down, 

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bonnets? 

And rustle on the path beneath the tread. 

The glories which were once the Summer's crown 
Are vanished, and the Summer now lies dead ! 



The trees were royal in their autumn gold — 
Their robes were rich with orange and with red, 
Their banners proudly to the winds were spread, 

And to the Frost-king waved defiance bold. 

Yet now no more their boasted power they hold. 
Their little day of royalty was sped, 
Their little gleam of glory quickly fled. 

As passed the kingdoms of the kings of old. 

With leaden clouds the sky is dark and gray; 

The rain falls on the faded, yellow leaves. 

With bitter teardrops saddened Nature grieves — 
She weeps because her beauty fades away. 
Is this the future which the buds of May 

Gave promise of? Ah, smiling Spring deceives ! 

m 

Yet as the day is drawing to its close. 

And as the Sun sinks in the arms of Night — 
Among the clouds appear great rifts of light, 

And all the gray is glorified with rose, 



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The hue of hope, which fainter, fainter, grows, 

Until at last it vanishes from sight. 

Then on the yellow sky, divinely bright. 
The sickle moon above the horizon glows. 

How soon forgot the sadness of the day ! 

Night hides beneath the shadow of her wings 
The presence of the demon of decay. 

And throws her mantle over dying things; 
The spirit of life and love stirs in our clay, 

For we behold Night's star-dust in endles? 
rings 
And only see the stars — Night's coronet! 



THE DREAMERS 

SOME men are dreamers born; their mystic souls 
In visions never realized are wrapt. 
They for the life around them are inapt, 
Like hermits idly reading mystic scrolls. 
Where angel heads glow with their aureoles. 
Or strange lands are mysteriously mapt 
With mighty streams and mountains thundercapt, 
Or where the organ fugue silently rolls. 

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Alas, these dreamers ! How the world goes by them, 
With ail its living joys and living sorrows. 
And as they watch for never-coming morrows, 

They lose what ought to bless and sanctify them. 
For while the Future dazzling promise borrows, 

The wasted golden Present lingers nigh them. 



BEETHOVEN 



WHERE art thou now, O master, where art thou? 
Is thy soul busied with the harmonies 
Which God hides in those rolling stars of his, 
Silent to us — to thee apparent now ? 
Where art thou now, O master, where art thou? 
The world has missed thee long, and none there is 
To be, like thee, the Priest of Mysteries, 
And wear the diadem upon the brow. 

And yet the world is full of thee. Thy name 

Is synonym for highest in thine art. 
And brighter thro' the coming years shall shine. 
Would I might add a little wreath of mine — 

Alas, how insignificant a part — 
To place within the temple of thy fame. 



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n 



I love the ocean's glorious symphonies 

In nature's everlasting solitudes; 

The deep adagio of its peaceful moods; 
Its light allegro when the white caps rise; 
Its minor when the sunset zephyr dies; 

Its mighty major when the storm cloud broods 

And sweeps the straining harp-strings of the woods, 
And far on high the foaming water flies 1 

So when Beethoven's magic music swells, 

Like voices of the angels heard in sleep, 
My spirit to its utmost depths is stirred 
As though a more majestic sea I heard. 

As though some sunken city's silver bells 

Swung palpitating in the purple deep. 



THE STORKS 

AT midnight, when the sleeping world is still, 
And bright-eyed stars, like watchmen, guard 
the sky. 
And look down calmly from their posts on high 
O'er field and forest, ocean, stream, and hill, — 

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From ruined tower and long-deserted mill 

Uprise the friendly, wide-winged storks, and fly 
Straight to the sunny lands which southward lie, 

Beyond man's ken, beyond all thought of ill. 

Man would not harm them : they are sacred things. 
Their scarlet bills and scarlet legs are known 
From Nile to Ganges; and from Rhine to Rhone 

Is heard the flapping of their dusky wings. 

They are affection's symbol; for. Love sings, 
The mother stork will perish for her own. 



THE REIGN OF SATURN 

" aurea prima sata est aetas qua vindice nulla 
sponte sua, sine lege^fidem rectumque colebat." 

THE legend says that in the golden time 
When Saturn's sceptre blest the blooming 
earth. 
Men's hearts were filled with overflowing mirth, 
And love and peace dwelt in that happy clime. 
For never yet had thought of war or crime 
In simple guileless bosoms had its birth, 
And never yet had cruel, wasting Dearth 
Dared enter where reigned Plenty in her prime. 

87 



Men lived as brothers, and their lives were long; 

Their lives were free from discord, free from 
care. 
All day the woodlands echoed to the song; 

And sounds of feasting filled the evening air. 
And often came the glorious gods among 

These happy men, their sweet delights to share. 



**postquam Saturno tenebrosa in Tartara tnisso 
sub Jove mundus erat." 

But Jove against his father Saturn rose. 

And harshly drove him from his ancient throne. 

Then wandered forth the crownless god alone, 
His hoary head bent low with weight of woes, 
Leaving his kingdom to his sons, — his foes. 

Sad was it for the world when he was gone. 

Peace from the mourning earth, and joy were 
flown. 
War on the heels of Hatred followed close. 
And Famine spread her black wings o'er the land. 

O then, those miserable men were fain 

To have their father Saturn come again; 
Were fain to have the feet of Plenty stand 
In her old Temple; and dread Famine bound. 

Alas ! alas ! their wishes were in vain. 



AT MIDNIGHT'S MYSTIC HOUR 



AT midnight's mystic hour I climbed the hill 
Whose farther slope dips gently to the shore. 
Like a vast prayer the solemn ocean's roar 
Rose ceaseless from the rocks; all else was still — 
So still that I could hear the young grass thrill 

As from the whispering night air, warm once more, 
It won the impulse from the ground to soar — 
As if, poor rooted thing, it might at will ! 

A few great stars begemmed the tender sky. 
And, like the swords of serried Seraphim 
Drawn up for battle far away from earth, 
The Northern Lights flamed to the zenith high 
And swept in triumph to the horizon's rim, 
While in the east a meteor died in birth. 



I flung myself upon the dewy ground 

And fixt mine eyes upon the mighty maze 
Of twinkling constellations, and the blaze 
Of flaming swords that crossed without a sound — 
So far, so weird, so changeful, in profound 



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§)onnets; 

Obedience to the unknown Power that sways 
The universe, and that the planets praise 
As swift they circle in their endless round. 

There as I prostrate lay and strove to scan 
The scope of those fierce forces bound to law, 
And felt the joy of inexpressible awe 

At such a divine weft of rhythmic plan, 
A tiny night moth fluttering by I saw 

And wondered if God had less care for man. 

A PAGAN SONNET 

THE silent mountains, purple robed, like kings. 
Stand waiting for the coming of the night. 

They feel her solemn presence as the light 
Fades slowly from their crowns. The sun-god flings 
His last red beams, tingeing the silver wings 

Of clouds rejoicing in their eastward flight. 

Will they be first to see his chariot bright 
Emerging from the ocean, when he brings 
His bride, the Day, to glad the world again? 

Ah ! soon they vanish from our yearning sight, 
In darkness flying on, their fate the wind. 
The rosy hues of hope are fond and vain. 

Fate is relentless; love is quenched in night. 
Farewell, ye clouds, to your own future blind ! 

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EVENING 



THE crimson glow has faded from the west; 
Deep shadows lie along the glassy stream, 

In whose cool depths green banks and daisies dream 
Of green banks and of daisies which are blest 
With real existence and with perfect rest, 

While they themselves are not, but only seem. 

The katydids pipe up their cheerful theme; 
The bird is sleeping in her woven nest. 
And near her sighs the melancholy breeze. 
The fire-flies, like lost, wandering Pleiades, 
With intermittent light dart through the trees. 
The evening stars smile down with radiant eyes, 
And fiery swords wave on the northern skies. 
As if to guard the Aurora's Paradise. 



IN A CANOE 

I 

DOWN in the sea caves sinks the dying sun. 
The restless waves are tinged with Tyrian hue. 
And purple clouds are hung upon the blue 
Of heaven, until the heaven and sea are one. 
Where ends the sea? Where is the sky begun? 
I, floating in an Indian canoe, 
With all these glories round me, with the view 



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Expanding as the waves I ride upon 

Lift up their haughty heads, could I not sail, 

Until I reached the line where sea and sky 

Are blended into one infinity? 
Could I not float out on the sea of space. 

And learn new wonders from behind the veil 
Which hides from us God's everlasting face? 



The day fades and the solemn, mystic night 
Broods with her thousand stars upon the ocean; 
The winds are hushed, — calmed is the waves' 
commotion; 

The crescent moon pours out her jar of light 

Upon the waters. Clouds as silvery white 
As angels' wings, float with the softest motion 
Across the sky and pay their deep devotion 

Unto their queen, enthroned on heaven's height. 

O Sea — thou symbol of almighty power! 

O Night — thou majesty of majesties! 
My soul is humbled at this solemn hour, 

Surrounded by thine awful mysteries. 
May my vain yearning slowly die away 
As dim Night took the sceptre from the Day. 

92 



THE STORM 

FROM some far valley of the West arise 
The storm clouds like the hordes of Tamerlane, 
And marching on in awful silence gain 
The zenith-posted fortress of the skies. 
The courier wind on winged courser flies 
And brings the pelting volleys of the rain. 
And then the loud-voiced thunder bursts amain 
And echoes on the circling hills, and dies. 

The mighty hosts of Nature cannot spare. 

They hasten on to work their destined death — 
Across the summer seas the darkness sweeps. 
The white- sailed boats go down before its breath; 
From heaven the jagged lightning blindly leaps 
Nor heeds the agony of human prayer. 



BREEZES 

SOME people meet us like the mountain air, 
And thrill our souls with freshness and delight; 
And others are like cooling winds of night 
To fan the heated brow of busy care; 

93 



And some are like the summer breezes, rare 

With perfumes, breathing from the gardens bright 
Where flowers are blooming, far beyond our sight. 

And so we know the gardens must be fair. 

And such we welcome when the day is done, 
And gentle melancholy seasons mirth, 

When fading tints across the gray sky run. 
And darker shadows brood upon the earth. 
Then deep heart confidences have their birth, 

And holy, life-long friendships are begun. 



THE NETHERLAND MARTYRS, 1535 



AMID the flames their souls were full of cheer. 
And, facing the dark mystery of death, 
Unflinchingly they clung unto their faith. 
No whit relenting at the beck of fear. 
And while the crowd stood round to mock and jeer, 
These martyrs blest them with their dying breath, 
Remembering what the Holy Scripture saith : — 
For they were noble men although austere. 

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They died — unhonored for their constancy. 

Brave men were they; yet no one mourned or 
wept. 
They suffered for the sake of liberty; 

And in their death, their deathless fame is kept. 

But had they lived, their story would have slept 
Uncared for in the tomb of history. 



The faith they held was bigoted and blind. 
The God they worshipped was a cruel God. 
A rugged and a weary path they trod; 

And life's delights they, murmuring not, resigned. 

So when the summons came to leave behind 
Life's bitterness, they bowed beneath the rod, 
And gladly laid aside the fettering clod — 

A martyr's never-fading crown to find. 

Their names are lost to us, but their example 
Flames like a beacon thro' the mist of ages. 

And bids us bravely stand when men would trample 
Upon our faith, and overthrow our altars; 

When fiery persecution round us rages. 
And when our courage under trial falters. 



95 



SPANISH SONNETS 



FOR many a day my heart no song has sung, 
For many a day my lips no music made; 
The harp which oft of old my fingers played 
Is silent, with its silver strings unstrung. 

Ah, wearily the sad days drag along, 

With never a ray of joy their gloom to cheer; 
Alone I sit and mingle sigh with tear; 

Alone I sit and nurse my fancied wrong. 

But mayhap she, the cause of all my woe. 
Is grieving that her lover comes not near. 
Is sadly wondering why she doth not hear 
The low notes of his dulcet serenade 
Beneath her window ere the sweet stars fade — 

Come, heart of mine, I pray thee let us go. 



Beneath my lady's window soft I crept; 

The music of far waters lulled the night; 

On high the queen moon walked in garments bright, 
And up the east lordly Orion swept. 
Beneath my lady's window watch I kept, 

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bonnets? 

And let the slow hours wing their silent flight, 
The while I envied e'en the moonbeams white 
That kissed my spotless lady while she slept. 

The rosy flush of morn was swiftly stealing 
Across the mountains as I turned away, 

And lo, I saw her by her casement kneeling. 
With palms together prest to greet the day; 

And matin-bells across the fields came pealing, 
And all the world in glittering sunlight lay. 

ni 

I hied me home and sang my songs once more; 
I took my dusty harp and tuned it well. 
And when I touched its strings, there came a spell 

Upon me such as song-birds feel that soar 

High toward the sun and all their heart outpour 
In sweet, melodious strains, which rise and swell, 
And to the world their rapturous joyance tell. 

So played I as I ne'er had played before. 

For though I had but seen her from afar, 

Yet did my heart know that she prayed for me. 

For mystic soul-communings oft there are. 

More faithful than mere human speech can be. 

And ere I saw her, from the pole a star 
Fell, like God's benediction, silently. 

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IV 



The golden moments fly like yellow bees, 

Which come with honey from the daisied field, 
The golden moments all their sweetness yield, 

Their flowery sweetness, honeyed memories. 

Ah ! memories, too sweet for perfect peace. 
Unless I share them; yet my lips are sealed. 
Would not the charm be lost if I revealed 

That name, to me so full of harmonies? 

No hour, no moment, in the livelong day, 

But is weighed down with honeyed thoughts of 
thee. 

Imprinted on the night's page, dim and gray. 
Thy smiling face, thine eyes, thy form, I see. 

The music of the ocean far away. 

Without thy name in it, discord would be. 



I wonder if none wonder why I smile, 
As thinking of my love I walk the street. 
And see not, neither hear the folk I greet, 

But only see my one love all the while. 



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I traverse many a long and joyous mile 

Of fragrant groves, whose checkered branches meet; 

T/iey know, they tell me of my maiden sweet; 
My heart with songs of her the birds beguile. 

'Twas only yesterday I saw my love, 
'Twas only yestermorn I saw my own, 
Beside her open casement sitting lone. 

With eyes fixt on the mountain heights above. 

She saw me not, and I gazed from afar, 

As one who worships the pale evening star. 



VI 



The deepest, cruelest love is love unspoken, 

Which battles with itself — passion with passion; 

White fire with lurid fire — in such fierce fashion 
That love's self dies, and lo ! the heart is broken. 
And yet the steadfast spirit gives no token, 

Tho' red-rose cheeks may pale, tho' lips grow ashen; 

Like thin-faced monks who lash without compassion 
Their quivering limbs to punish sins unspoken. 

Keep silence, oh, my heart! be thou no traitor; 
Betray not thy wild struggles, thy wild yearning. 
Yea, let thy agony seethe as in a crater 

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Hidden by flowering vines far down is burning 
The lava seen but by the All-discerning. 

Great is thy love, fond heart — my will is greater. 



VII 

Maybe in God's own time, when time is past, 
Love incomplete shall be made full and round 
By perfect joining of lost parts, and crowned 

By the rich jewel of God's love at last. 

But why should we endeavor to forecast 
The problem of the future? Life is bound 
With adamantine chains. We hear no sound 

From those who vanish in death's awful vast. 

Were it not best, then, once, only once, to speak — 
To kiss; then part as if the past were not? 

Life has no deeper vengeance on men's hearts to wreak. 
Nay, silent suffering is a nobler lot. 

I will be strong because I am so weak; 

Though I should die for Love's sake — for Love's 
sake. 

VIII 

How the fresh raindrop on the grass-blade flashes ! 
Behold the sunbeams on the river dancing ! 
See the swift swallows thro' the deep sky glancing ! 

lOO 



Hark, how the fountain in the arbor flashes ! 

How Nature mocks us as we sit in ashes ! 

I thought she wept with me — now is she lancing 
Her bitter shafts of sunshine down, enhancing 

My griefs! O Nature, how thy joyance clashes! 

Yet why? The dimmest star-heart sympathizes 
With our distress; and mayhap through our sorrows 

Our poor love purer, higher, nobler rises. 

Love on in silence, then, O heart ! and grieve not, 
For after sad to-days come happier morrows. 

That love is lost believe not — oh, believe not! 



IX 

The sun sinks down behind the purple hills 
And delicate clouds in golden radiance glow; 
The splendor brightens o'er the sea below. 

And all the conscious world with beauty thrills. 

The sea is calm; the sighing south wind stills, 
The ripples on the beach scarce come and go, 
As slowly up the sands the waters flow 

And the full tide the crescent harbor fills. 

Alone I sit upon the rocks, alone 

And watch the light upon the headland far — 
It kindles like the silvery evening star. 

lOI 



The phantom ships sail on and fade away 
As night broods o'er the silence of the bay; 
And still I sit and think of thee, my own. 



PETRARCA DE SENECTUTE SUA: A PARA- 
PHRASE 

quas humilis ienero stylus oltm effudit in aevo 
perlegis hie lachrymas, et quod pharetratus acuta 
ille puer puero fecit mihi euspide volnus, 
omnia paulati?n consujnit longior aetas, 
vivendoque simul morimur, rapimurque manendo, 
ipse mihi coUatus enifji non ille videbor ; 
frons alia est, moresque alii, nova mentis imago, 
voxque aliud sonat : 

pectore nunc gelido calidos miseremur amantes 
iamque arsisse pudet. Veteres tranquilla tumultus 
mens horret, relegensque alium putat ista locutum. 

The tears which in my callow youth I shed 

Long since are dried; the wound made by the dart 
Of Love, the archer, on my boyish heart 

Is healed. The summer of my life is dead, 

And one by one its idle joys are fled. 
Like Death, our daily living bids us part 
From all we once held dear. O Time, thou art 

Our Fate, which drives us with relentless tread ! 

I02 



The old self that we knew is now no more. 

The brow is wan; fond habits suffer change; 

The mind has other eyes; the voice is strange. 

Our cold hearts pity lovers passionate; 

We blush that once we burned. Old loves we hate; 
And former vows we deem another swore. 



THE RIVER 

THE river is a moody human thing; 
It laughs whenever the sky is sunny blue, 
While from the sky it takes a richer hue. 
Nothing it does all day but laugh and sing, 
And toss its diamonds like a wayward king. 
And if the day is dark and sad, then too 
The river mourns the hours of sadness through, 
And seems dissolved in tears of murmuring. 

It is a sympathetic, soulless soul — 

A creature touched by every passing breath, 
For future sunshine it has little faith — 

Remembers not the past. Now is its whole. 

Though it knows not, it rushes to its goal — 
Its goal the mighty ocean's living death. 



103 



PROPHECIES 

SWEET is the homage which the south winds 
show — 
Sweet is the piney incense which they bring 
To delicate, proud harebells, as they swing 
Their graceful heads, a-nodding to and fro. 
The organ tones o' the sombre pines is low — 
Low the prophetic hymn their branches sing. 
Is it a sound of the ocean murmuring? 
Does it reach the river in its ceaseless flow? 

Beneath the brooding banks the waters stay; 
Entranced, they listen to the oracle 
Which of the sea the sun-fleckt pines foretell — 

Singing the doom to which they haste away. 

Thus mortals, hurrying to Eternity, 

Catch sometimes a faint sound of its vast sea. 



HERE AND THERE 



T 



HE sunshine slants across wide fields of green, 
The wind drives bendino: billows o'er the 



grass 
Chased by the shadows of white clouds that pass 
Like kindly dragons down the blue serene. 

104 



g)onnets? 

Afar the dreamy mountains hedge the scene, 
Ethereal in their opaline transparent mass : 
Not with my naked eye nor with my glass 

Can I redeem the miles that lie between. 

If on yon cloudlike mountains I should stand, 
The land would lie as though upon my palm — 
The rivers — silver ribbons, the blue lakes calm 

Like mirrors echoing sunny gleams of skies; 

And far away my village, like a band 

Of little pearls, where this fair valley lies. 



105 



9!n ittore ^eriouss jEooD 



A RUSSIAN FANTASY 

O'ER the yellow crocus on the lawn 
Floats a light white butterfly. 
Breezes waft it ! See, 't is gone ! 
Dushka, little soul, when didst thou die? 

SUNSET FANCIES 

WHERE glows the sunset 
Like a fiery ocean 
Do you see the islands, 
The Hesperides? 
Green are their palm trees, 
Somnolent in motion, 
Musical in silence. 

Bending in the breeze. 

Many are the herds there 

On the meadows straying — 
Snowy-fleeced sheep, 
Wide-horned kine. 
Many are the red deer 

On the hillsides playing; 
See how they leap ! 

How their antlers shine ! 



109 



3In ^ott g)eriou0 £pooU 

See, in the tree-tops 

Splendid birds are flashing, 
Living gleams of color, 

Living tongues of flame ! 
See the lofty fountains 
Musically plashing — 

Diamonds are duller. 

Every drop's a gem ! 

Shaded by palm groves. 
Halls of alabaster 

Strangely carved with stories 
Of departed days. 
Sculptured by chisel 

Of no earthly master. 

Glow with golden glories. 

With precious stones ablaze. 

They are the mansions 
Of the old Immortals, 
Exiles from earth 

Long centuries ago. 
Amaranthine wreaths 

Crown their pearly portals; 
Never-dying mirth 

Is theirs, never thought of woe. 



IIO 



3lln ^ott Serious? ^ooD 

There Ganymede, 

For the gods reclining 
On golden couches, 

Bears the jewelled bowl; 
There the ancient poets. 

In white raiment shining. 
With rhythmical touches 

Wake the harp's deep soul. 

There is Athene 

Standing by her altars, 
Grave and sublime. 

Watching o'er her fane. 
Faith in her godhead 

Never wanes or falters; 
She in good time 

Will be worshipped again. 

There is the Temple 

Of the good Apollo, 

Where light like wine 
Spouts in living jets. 
Round the vast rotunda 

Scarce the eye can follow 
To the heights divine 
Of starred minarets. 



Ill 



3|n £0ott ^ttioxx^ ^oou 

Out in the ocean 

Of the sunset glowing 

Have you seen this vision — 
Those Islands of the Blest? 
Have you seen the temples, 

Seen the fountains flowing, 
And the hills Elysian 
In the purple west? 

Now darkness gathers; 

Night with sable pinions 
Forever shuts away 

That glimpse of Paradise. 
Jealously guarding 

Her infinite dominions. 
Keeping from day 

The secrets of the skies. 



THE PALACE OF PLEASURE 

WE have read in legends of old 
Of palaces built in a night; 
With walls of glittering gold. 

And roofs of crystalline light; 
With stores of treasures untold, 

Collected from deep and from height. 

112 



3In ^ore ^tmn& £pooD 

At sunset the site is a waste 

Of tangled, unfmctified ground, 

By fens and quagmires defaced, 

Where reptiles and serpents abound : — 

A paradise spoiled and debased; 
No rose sheds its fragrance around. 

At midnight assemble the powers : — 
The gnomes and the djinns from the earth. 

The fairies that lurk in the flowers, 
The Titans that forge works of worth. 

The weavers of magical bowers. 
To build the beautiful birth. 

In silent and cheerful array. 

In orderly cohort and line, ' 
The workers their master obey. 

By his will, without signal or sign, 
The wizard exhibits the way. 

As tho' by a wisdom divine. 

The briers and brambles are banned, 
The marsh is transformed to a lake, 

Tall trees on the avenues stand. 
Clear fountains in rivulets break. 

A new paradise blooms in the land 
Ere the birds in the morning awake. 

113 



3In £pore g^erious? ^ooD 

Foundations of marble are laid; 

Like visions arise the fair walls; 
Silken tapestries now are displayed; 

Long mirrors show jewel-set halls; 
The chambers, richly arrayed, 

Are thronged with obedient thralls. 

And thus when the magical car 

Brings home the prince and his bride, 

All things in readiness are 

To welcome their lord and their pride. 

And music swells, echoing far. 

And banners and pennants float wide. 

The Palace of Pleasure is done. 

In a night it is built. In the day 
It will vie with the light of the sun. 

In an hour it may vanish away. 
So joy like a cobweb is spun. 

The prince and his bride — where are they? 



ROCKY NOOK 



THROUGH his breezy bower of leaves 
Gleams the golden oriole, 
Pouring out his joyous soul 
As his hanging nest he weaves. 



114 



31n ^ore ^ttion& £pooD 

In the sunny fields the quail, 

Hiding deep mid nodding flowers, 
Whistles for the coming showers — 

Cheerful tho' his omens fail. 

O'er the meadow hovering, 

Near the winding brooklet's brink, 
Trills the lyric bobolink — 

Our Anakreon on the wing. 

See ! upon the topmost leaf 
Of the maple on the hill 
He is swinging, singing still. 

Like a soul that knows no grief. 

How the air with perfume swoons ! 
Humming dart the yellow bees 
From the flower-clad apple trees; 

All their lives are honeymoons. 

Insects chirp amid the grass. 
Swallows twitter as they fly 
Arrowlike across the sky, 

And the crows call as they pass. 

Thro' the night the whippoorwill 
Threatens from the linden tree, 
And the voices of the sea 

All the solemn silence fill. 



115 



3lln ^ore g^etiousf ^ooD 

Silvery music from the brook, 
Rapturous singing from the field. 
Golden moments dost thou yield, 

To thy lovers. Rocky Nook. 



FROM A BALCONY 



I 



SEE a patch of woodland, 
A hill which hovels crown, 
A wide brook overflowing 
With waters dull and brown. 



Then black lines of a railway 
With swift trains thundering by; 

Like comets manned by demons 
In headlong speed they fly. 

Below me is a courtyard. 

Unshaded by a tree; 
A mournful bush in the corner 

Is its only shrubbery. 

And there a withered leaflet 
Spins round in the fitful wind, 

Like a sad gray ghost imprisoned, 
No exit can it find. 



ii6 



31n ^ore ^txion^ ^ooti 

The type of many a mortal, 

That wan leaf has no rest, 
And I think that a grave in the churchyard 

For you and me were best. 

AURORA BOREALIS 

IN the cold midwinter night. 
O'er the frosty northern sky 
Gather spectral armies bright. 
See them march and wheel and fight — 
Fight and fall and die ! 

So the mystic hosts of thought 

Thro' my soul at midnight gleam; 
Valiant battles then are fought, 
Doughty deeds are swiftly wrought. 
Is it all a dream ? 

TWO SUNSETS 

ONCE before I saw a sunset 
From this rocky hill, 
Saw the valley deep and misty, 
Saw the mountains blue and still. 
And the crimson clouds above them 
With the sunbeams thrill. 

117 



3In ^ore ^eriou0 £pooD 

But 'twas not so much the sunset 

Which ensouled the place, 
As it was the glow and glory 
Beaming from thy raptured face, 
Wistfully, unconscious of me, 
Gazing into space. 

Now once more I see the sunset 
(Years have had their flight), 
See the misty valley darkling. 
See the mountain's purple light, 
And the dusky-shadowed pinions 
Of the eagle. Night. 

But alone I see the glory ! 

Dearest, thou art far ! 
And the clouds grow black and heavy 
Shutting out the evening star. 
And my heart is sad and weary. 

Crushed by Fate's stern bar. 

Though I know that day returneth, 

And the night is gain. 
Yet I cannot lift the burden 
Of the present's grief and pain. 
Darkness closes in around me — 

Courage, trust, are vain. 



ii8 



31n ^ore ^txiou$ spooD 

TO A BEAUTIFUL NUN 

FAIR Nun, that slowly wanderest 
Thro' byways of the town, 
Tell me the thoughts thou ponderest, 
Demure, with eyes cast down. 

The world around is beautiful; 

No joy to thee it brings, 
Because thy spirit dutiful 

Is set on heavenly things. 

The sunlight is not vanity, 

Nor pleasure sign of ill; 
Bright greetings of urbanity 

May tender heartstrings thrill. 

. But all these things are naught to thee; 
Such visions thou must shun. 
Another code is taught to thee, 
Thou solemn-vestured Nun. 

Thy talents, — make no use of them 
To win the world's applause; 

Such use were but abuse of them 
To hurt Religion's cause. 

119 



31n ^ott g)mous? ^ootj 

Thy voice, tho' rich and glorious, 
Must not in mirth take part; 

Thy hands must be laborious 
In charity, not art. 

Thy face would grace society, 
Thy hand be sought in love; 

But all thy realm is piety; 
Thy heart is fixt above. 

Yet calm and unregretfully 

Thou goest on thy way, 
As tho' desire were met, fully. 

In that one word "obey." 

No thought of earthly joy disturbs. 
For earthly love must cease; 

No trivial annoy disturbs 
The current of thy peace. 

Surrounded by thy purity 

As by an angel's arm. 
Thou passest in security 

Amid all sin and harm. 

Sweet bride of heaven, abidingly 
Thy thoughts all heavenward flow; 

And thus alone, confidingly, 
Thou walkest here below. 



I 20 



The sombre garb thou wearest here, 

The rosary, the cross, — 
Symbol of what thou bearest here, — 

Make all things seem but dross. 

Above, the wedding raiment waits. 
The crown, the promised spouse; 

For all the loss the payment waits, 
The answer to thy vows. 

For this thou hast forsaken all 
Thy beauty might have won; 

For this alone hast taken all 
The sorrows of a Nun. 

Fair Nun, my heart acknowledges 

A pang to see thy face. 
I care not for theologies, 

I only care for grace. 

And yet I would not change thy lot 

To that of mortal bride. 
Let God alone arrange thy lot 

And in thy heart abide. 



121 



31n ^ore g>eriousf ^ooD 

PERVERTED 

A LITTLE, innocent, white-winged Cloud 
Flew out across the summer sea. 
And there was met by a surly crowd 

Of Fogs and Tempests. She tried to flee. 

"Now join us," cried a menacing form, 
"Or else thy beauty we destroy! " 

When back she came with the hosts of storm 
Destruction was her only joy. 



THE SHEPHERDS 

I 

SHEPHERDS, have ye heard the story? 
Shepherds, did ye see the light? 
All the sky was filled with glory; 
Hill and vale were bright. 



Shepherds, we our flocks were keeping 
On the upland pasture ground; 

All the world around was sleeping; 
There was not a sound ! 

122 



3In ^ore g>eriou0 ^pooD 



in 



As we stood alone and listened 
To the silence near and far, 

Suddenly before us glistened, 
In the East, a star. 



IV 



Brighter in its swift ascension 
Than the planet or the moon, 

Soon it claimed our rapt attention ; 
Night was turned to noon. 



In affright we drew together. 
All we shepherds on the hill, 

And our wonder questioned whether 
It should bode us ill. 



VI 

When it came and hung suspended. 

Blazing over Bethlehem : 
Every rock, with radiance splendid, 

Sparkled like a gem ! 



123 



31n £pore ^eriou0 £pooD 



VII 



When we found ourselves surrounded 
With a bright angelic throng, 

And above us, round us, sounded 
Loud a wondrous song. 



VIII 



Harps of gold and crowns undying, 
Robes of white and jewelled wings! 

On our faces we are lying 
While the seraph sings : 



IX 



" Peace on earth ! Good will to mortals ! 

Christ the Lord this day is born; 
He hath passed the heavenly portals, 

Glorious is this morn ! 



"Blessed tiding to all nations! 

God hath sent to ransom them. 
Go and find him ! Loud ovations 

Sinof in Bethlehem ! " 



124 



31n ^ott Serious? ^ooD 



XI 



Then the mighty angel chorus 
Clove the air with sweet acclaim; 

Swelled the hymn, resounding o'er us, 
Hailing Jesus' name ! 



XII 



Shepherds, we have straightway started. 
Leaving on the fields our sheep. 

To discover, joyful-hearted, 
Where the Babe doth sleep. 



XIII 



Seek with us the blessed Stranger ! 

Come adore the heavenly Child 
Lying in the humble manger. 

Pure and undefiled ! 



xrv 



Angels, wondering, hover o'er him; 

Costly gifts the Magi bring; 
And the rabbis bow before him, 

Mutely worshipping. 



125 



31n ^ore Serious; ^oou 



XV 



And his gentle virgin mother 
Holds him closely to her breast; 

On the earth there is no other 
Woman half so blest. 



XVI 



Shepherds, now you know the story 
Of this wondrous Christmas morn. 

Let us also share the glory 
Of the King new born. 



FALLEN PETALS 



o 



N the ground — on the dewy ground — 
Lie the apple blossoms strewn around. 



Yesterday — only yesterday — 

All the boughs with fragrant blooms were. gay. 

But a wind — a dark wind — arose, 
And they fell — drifting like the snows. 

So thy heart, with hope's petals strewn, 
Misses now the blossoms thou hast known. 

Never fear ! The fruit will load the tree. 
And Life's autumn bring some good to thee. 

126 



31n ^oxt g)mousf ^ooD 

OFF GLOUCESTER 

UPON the lifting curve of the sea 
The fishing fleet drifts dreamily, 
And the sky looks down with its tenderest smile; 
And the ocean, forgetting his craft awhile, 
Takes the ships on his heaving breast 
And brings them into the port of rest. 

GLOWING STARS 

TELL me, glowing stars on high. 
Do I perish when I die? 
Or shall I be ever I ? 

Will my spirit have re-birth 
And regain the things of worth 
When my dust returns to earth? 

Ye too perish, ye too fall : 
Flash a moment — then the pall : 
Is that typical of all? 

Boundless depths of glowing spheres, 
Changeless in the changing years. 
Seem to negative our fears. 

127 



31n ^ore g)criou0 ^ooD 

Yet your changeless is all change ! 
Fleeting, flying on, ye range 
Thro' the vortex vast and strange. 

Other creatures, other men, 
Cling upon you, live — and then 
Do they die and live again? 



DISCOURAGEMENT 



SAID the glowworm : " I, 
A creature of fire, 
Cannot touch my desire; 
However I yearn and try 
To meet and greet 
My winged sisters high 
In the sky — 
I can only burn and die ! " 

Said the firefly: "I, 
A creature of light, 
Cannot wing my flight 
Thro' the luring night 
To my calmer sisters high 
In the sky ! 



128 



3In ^ore Serious; ^pooD 

I can only fly 
Over field and flower 
For my little hour, 
And die like a sigh." 

Said my fervent soul : 

"I'm a creature of light and fire; 

But why — why should I aspire ? 

For ne'er may I rise higher 

Than the glowing coal 

On the funeral pyre, 

And Death is my goal ! " 



"AS YESTERDAY" 

A SWEET young mother fell asleep and died : 
She left her children to a stranger's care; 
Yet scarcely had she reached the other side 

When all her dear ones gathered round her there. 

A Spirit saw the wonder on her face : — 

"They lived on earth their rounded lives," it cried, 

"But Heaven knows naught of measured time or 
space : — 
A hundred years have vanished since you died ! " 

129 



3|n £pore Serious? ^ooD 

IN THE PARK 

THE dry leaves rustle on the ground 
With weird, mysterious, whispering sound. 
What is the secret that they tell? 
"We are hapless ghosts of leaves that fell 
From bliss remembered all too well, 
And now by winds of Fate are whirled 
Around a dead and frozen world." 

MAN'S TWO WINGS 

(Paraphrased from De Imitatione.') 

WHEN life seems dreary, 
And thou art weary 
Of earthly things — 
If then thou yearnest 
In holy earnest, 

For what peace brings, 
Thou mayst soar to heaven 
On pinions given 
To souls like thine: 
Simplicity 
And purity 
Will be for thee 
Those wings divine. 

130 



3In ^ore Serious: ^ooD 

IF WE WERE TO DIE TOGETHER 

IF we were to die together 
Should we wander hand in hand 
Thro' the dark mysterious gateway 
To the unseen land? 

Should we comfort one another 
In the strangeness of the way, 
Till our eyes beheld the brightness 
Of the dawning day? 

Were it so my heart would never 

Fail me at the thought of death. 
Never would a pang of doubting 
Haunt my parting breath. 

Life or death with thee to share it 

Gives no room for fear — 
I were blest in joy or sorrow — 
Whether there or here. 

THE BROKEN VOW 

THE youthful monk, Aloysius, 
Knelt alone in his gloomy cell, 
And scourged his quivering body 
As the shades of evening fell. 
(He heard the vesper bell.) 



131 



3In £pore g)erious? ^ooti 

A solemn vow he had taken 

To renounce all earthly love, 
And to keep his heart turned ever 

To the Christ on the cross above. 
(O Spirit send thy Dove !) 

But it chanced that athwart his pathway 

A beautiful woman came, 
And the one sweet glance that she gave him 

Had set his heart aflame. 

(The Tempter wrought the shame !) 

In spite of prayer and fasting, 

Of sackcloth and of rod. 
The vision of the maiden 

Rose 'twixt him and his God. 
(Thorny the path he trod !) 

He heard the solemn chanting 

Of monks in the chapel dim, 
But the secret voice within him 

Is louder than their hymn. 

(His eyes with hot tears swim.) 

Pater noster rang their voices; 

Salva me murmured his sighs : — 
"But to rest on the maiden's bosom 

Were worth all Paradise ! " 

(The inward voice replies.) 



132 



3(In ^ott ^tmu& ^oou 

When the monks next morn assembled, 

Aloysius was not there; 
His vow to God he had broken — 

He had fled from the House of Prayer. 
(O Love, it was thy snare !) 



THE HARMONY DIVINE 

OvTTOTe dvarOiv 
Thv Albs dpfiovlav dvdpQv irape^iacn ^ov\al. 

Never shall the plan of mortal man disturb the harmony of 
Zeus. — AISCHULOS : Prometheus Des7notes. 

HOWEVER wrangling men may war 
Or jangling discords jar and mar 
God's Symphony eternal, 
A law-engendered purpose runs 
Throughout a universe of suns, 
Each with its song supernal. 

The Harmony divine ! No plan 
Conceived by heart of mortal man 

Disturbs its progress splendid. 
For as the hurrying years revolve 
The most discordant notes dissolve 

In triumph never-ended. 

"^11 



31n ^ott ^etiou0 £poou 

THE HEART 

multa 'in hoc mundo sunt et haec omnia cor humanum satiare 
non possunt. — Hugo de St. Victor. 

THE world is a kingdom of beautiful things; 
Yet possession of wealth only fosters the pride ! 
No lasting content it brings even to kings; 
By heaven alone is the heart satisfied. 



ON A PICTURE OF SUNSET IN THE ADI- 
RONDACKS 

ON mountain summits and on clouds is glowing 
The glory of the sunset; in the valley 
The waveless waters of the river dally, 
And shadows darker and more deep are growing. 

Hushed are the winds; the tall elms bending 
Above the glassy stream are motionless 
As if entranced at their own loveliness, 

With dreamy colors in the cool depths blending. 

There is no sound; the robins ceased their song 

As sunset slowly faded from the sky; 

Music and joyousness to day belong — 
'T is fitting that in silence day should die. 



3|n ^ott Serious; ^oou 

PEACE 

In la sua vohmtade e nostra pace. — Paradiso, III, 85. 

PEACE? Can we find it in this world of trial, 
Where battles fierce and every form of ill 
And pain and sorrow and hard self-denial 

Our checkered lives from birth to death must fill? 

Peace? Peace? How sweet the word and tender ! 

Its very sound should wrangling discords still ! 
And I might find it if I would surrender 

Myself and my will to His perfect will. 



AT MIDNIGHT BY THE SEA 

WE sat at midnight on the shore, 
The waves were breaking at our feet 
With solemn, low, continuous roar, — 
The red lights on the fishing fleet 
Rocked to and fro against the sky. 

We saw the mist-wreaths hurrying by, 
Like loving things compelled by Fate 
To seek some distant, unknown state; 
The moon shone on the waters far, 
And o'er the golden waste a bar 

135 



3|n spore ^tmn$ £pooD 

Of shadow of deep purple lay; 

The ofifing was a silvery gray, 

From which the black-backed islands rose 

Like ocean monsters in repose. 

Alas, alas ! no words can tell 
The sadness which upon us fell; 
No trick of rhyme can half express 
The tearful, melancholy mood 
Born of the boundless solitude. 
The marbled sky seemed pitiless; 
The sad waves breaking on the shore 
Were moaning for the nevermore — 
The awful unattainable — 
As down the rocks the slow tide fell. 
The mist-veil seemed to shut from sight 
Some deeper mystery of the night; 
The very light the white moon gave 
Made shadows deeper on shore and wave. 

I have seen times when inner sight 
Seemed opened on the infinite, 
As if the flower of God's great plan 
Were slowly blossoming for man, 
So that my soul began to see 
Some clew unto the mystery 
Of what it really means to be. 



136 



3|n ^ore ^ttion& ^ooD 

Not so that night. The darkness drew 

Like mist about my soul. I felt 

That there was nothing that I knew. 

My soul within me seemed to melt ! 

Thus by the shore we walked — we two, 

As slow the mystic hour crept on 

And the tide turned and the moon was gone. 



THE ABBA'S DREAM 

THE Abb^ Michael dreamed one night 
That heaven was opened to his sight, 
And first among the radiant throng 
Which filled the streets with praise and song 
He saw a man whose reckless might 

Had seamed his earthly life with wrong. 

The Abb^ saw not streets of gold, 

Or splendid mansions manifold, 
Or sea of glass, or jewels rare, 
Or pearly gates beyond compare, 

Or hosts of angels richly stoled; — 
He only saw this sinner there ! 

The hymns of triumph reached his ears, 
But brought no solace for his tears; 

^37 



31n £pore g>erious? ^oou 

Peace from his jealous soul had flown :■ 
"My life is spent for God alone," 
He cried; "and yet this man appears 
Among the nearest to the throne." 

But ere he woke he heard a voice, 
Which said unto his heart: "Rejoice! 
The diamond which is full of light 
Was once a coal as black as night ! 
Judge not the means which God employs 
To make the wrong bloom into right." 



THE DEATH OF AVRAHAM 

HURMAZD ! Almighty Lord ! 
A flying rumor said 
That Avraham was dead : — 
Drawn from the scabbard 's the sword; 
Loosed from the bow is the cord; 
The wine from the pitcher is poured; 
The casket loses its hoard. 

Thus, yet not thus, from man, 
When he has finished his span, 
Falls neglected, despised, 
The body he long has prized. 



138 



31n ^oxt ^ertou0 ^ooti 

It crumbles into dust: — 
Consumed is the scabbard by rust; 
The bow is broken for fire; 
The pitcher is lost in the mire; 
The casket is tost in the brier. 

Hurmazd I Almighty Lord ! 
The flying rumor said 
That Avraham was dead. 

Hearken the Mage's word! 
Solemnly spake the sage, 
Bent low by thought and by age : — 
I watched as Avraham 's soul 
Passed from his body's control. 

Asks an eager fool of the wise : — 

"What was its form as it fled 

And joined the hosts of the dead? " 

The master, unrufifled, replies : — 

" Form it had none. When you said, 
Days agone, 'Lo, here is our friend,' 
You thought not of mouth or of eyes, 
Of hair, of color, of size, — 

So now it was at the end, 
(The end of suffering, sinning, 
But death is new life beginning !) 

139 



31n ^ore ^txion^ £poot> 

"As the formless form of the soul 
Of Avraham drew near the goal 
To which thro' life he had aimed 
('Zadeehah,' the Just^ was he named), 
A breeze with fragrance laden 
Breathed from the robes of a maiden 
Stately and gracious and fair, 
Who came to welcome him there. 

" She was the soul of his deeds, 
His charities, faithfulness, prayer, 
Self-sacrifice, meekness, and love: 
The growth of a thousand seeds, 
For all that is best in us breeds 

Greater perfection above. 
But the bad destroys as it feeds, 
Like canker or ruthless decay. 

" Then the maiden led him away. 
As a father is led by a daughter, 

Thro' pleasant asphodel meads. 
By fountains of life-giving water, 

To the grove of Hurmazd the Great. 

" ' Well done ! Thou hast won in the strife ! 
New joy now begins and new life, 



140 



3(ln ^ore g)mou0 ^pood 

My son ! ' was the welcoming word 
That the wondering Avraham heard 
As he bowed in the presence of Fate.' 



r 



PROPHETS 

(To THE Memory of John Greenleaf Whittier.) 

N every age have men been sent 
To be a nation's ornament, — 
To bring the Graces down to earth, 
To sing new songs of love and mirth, 
To make the pictured canvas glow, 
To bid full streams of music flow. 
To shape dead marble into life. 
To lead vast hosts from strife to strife. 
The annals of the world abound 
With lives which deathless fame has crowned. 
But while each age, each nation claims 
Its noble roll of splendid names, 
Once in a century appears 
The flaming torch of God-sent seers, 
As comets fling their threatening blaze 
Athwart the fixed stars* silvery rays. 



When tyrannies oppress a land. 
When crimes abound on every hand, 



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When righteous laws in the dust are trod, 
When men forget that God is God, — 
Then with his whip of scorpion stings, 
The prophet his stern message brings; 
To pride, so soon to be brought low. 
Foretells the coming of the woe; 
Awakes the conscience, lulled to sleep, 
With thunders snatched from Sinai's steep. 
To seers like these mere beauty seems 
Like forms and colors seen in dreams : 
Rich houses, bright and comely dress, 
The dainty fare of palaces. 
The vaunted triumphs of the arts. 
The traffic of the crowded marts, 
Are false enticements to be spurned, 
Are tinsel dross that must be burned. 
And so they come in camel's hair, 
With locusts for their homely fare; 
And in the market-place they stand 
And preach destruction to the land : 
"Repent! repent! " they loudly cry, 
"The judgment of the Lord is nigh!" 
The heedless mob refuse to hear, 
The triflers jest, the cruel jeer; 
And soon the hurtling stones are flung 
To still the inconvenient tongue. 
" My prophets, O Jerusalem, 

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Where are they? Ye have stoned them ! " 
But, tho' the prophet sinks in death, 
The Lord's word never perisheth. 
The fated doom leaps forth at last; 
And when its awful work is past, 
The prophet, who its course foretold, 
On whom the fathers' sins were rolled, 
Is by their children's children named 
As one in whom God's voice had flamed. 



A LEGEND OF ST. ANTHONY 

ST. ANTHONY had fasted much and prayed,— 
Had spent long years in desert lands alone, 
Afflicting his lean limbs with punishments 
For evil thoughts that came against his will; 
Forever watching for the slightest stain 
That might appear upon the shining gold 
Of his pure life, that at the latter day. 
When he must render it unto his Lord, 
He might receive his Lord's most grateful praise. 

And now he was grown old and sorely bent; 
His frame was feeble and his eyes were dim, 
His long hair and his beard were white as wool. 
And as he sat before his hermitage 

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31n ^ore ^ttions ^pooli 

At eventide, and saw the red sun sink 
Behind great masses of dark purple clouds, 
Down in a sea of sand, the glad thought came 
That soon his pilgrimage below would close. 
Soon would his sun go down in clouds of glory. 

He raised his eyes to heaven and spoke in prayer: 
"Lord, I have lived apart from sinful men; 
I have not soiled my life by intercourse 
With filthy pleasures which the bad world loves. 
To prayer and fasting have my days been given, 
My nights to penance for e'en thought of sin. 
Temptations have I struggled with, oh Lord, 
But never have I fallen, no, not once. 
When Satan came with all-alluring wiles 
I yielded not, nor have I ceased to fight 
His open warfare, till at last I stand 
Triumphant in my hard-earned victory. 
What more remaineth now for me to do? 
Am I not holy more than other men? 
Am I not ripe to garner into heaven? 
I pray thee let my long probation cease, 
Now, Lord, I pray thee, take thy servant home." 

When he had ceased, a gentle voice replied: 
" Nay, Anthony, in Alexandria, 
A cobbler, Paulus, lives, who has more cause 



31n £pore Serious? ^ooD 

For boasting of his holiness than thou." 
He marvelled at these words and pondered long. 
The night he spent in scourging his poor flesh 
Until the blood flowed down his trembling limbs. 
And ere the sun rose from the ruddy east, 
St. Anthony had grasped his oaken staff, 
And wandering thro' the weary wastes of sand 
He sought the city, Alexandria. 

At length, when many days and nights were past, 
Before a lowly cottage door he stood, 
And gained admittance to the humble room 
Where dwelt the cobbler with his family. 

" I come to see a man who has more cause 
To boast of holiness than Anthony; 
Now show me thy good works, that I may judge. 
And if convinced, though old, may learn of thee." 

The cobbler, Paulus, answered in surprise : 
"Nay, I have done no good works that I know; 
I live contented in my poverty. 
My hands I strive to keep from idleness. 
I teach my children to be truly kind. 
And bring them up to love their father's God. 
I gather them about me when I pray. 
But as for ^good works,' nay, I have done none." 

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Then Anthony was sore amazed, and prayed : 
" Oh Lord, expound to me this parable. 
How is this cobbler holier than I, 
Who have lived sinless all my ninety years, 
And uncontaminated by the world? " 

Then suddenly the scales fell from his eyes; 
He saw how he had lived in selfishness, 
How cowardly it was to leave the world 
And spend his long life on himself alone. 
And Paradise seemed far away from him 
Who late had prayed his Lord to take him home. 
His life seemed wasted, and he wept aloud. 
Then had the Lord compassion on the saint, 
And speedily He took him to his rest — 
His aged saint, who at the end of life 
Had learned the lesson of humility. 



AN AUTUMN FRUIT 

OUR good old dominie was fond of flowers. 
It was because his life was beautiful, 
I think, that nothing that had beauty failed 
To touch him and to make his soul respond. 
And so, because I could not do great things. 
Nor bear the heat and burden of the day 

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3|n ^ore Serious? ^ooD 

By working in the vineyard of the Lord, 

On peaceful Sabbath mornings, when the dew 

Still sparkled on the bending blades of grass, 

And made me think of jewelled scimetars, 

Wielded by fairies in Titania's court, 

I cut the sweetest blossoms I could find — 

Red roses, clambering up the trellised wall, 

And pinks from out my little garden plot. 

And bright-eyed pansies, gentians, violets. 

And sometimes modest wild flowers from the wood, 

Which, cool and shady, climbed the village hill. 

From springtime, when the wild arbutus came 

(Brave little beauty hiding 'neath the snows), 

Thro' the long summer till the violets died. 

And when the pine-o'ershadowed river banks 

Grew purple with proud harebells, and the fields 

Were thick with royal hosts of goldenrod — 

Each Sunday morn I brought my offering 

And laid it on the altar in the church. 

And when our dear old dominie would come — 

I see his white hair and his mild eyes yet — 

And linger for a moment just to catch 

The delicate breath of heliotrope or rose, 

I saw the peaceful look of thanks to God 

For sending such sweet things into the world, 

And had my own exceeding great reward. 

And one day, when a little child was brought 

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31n £0ott g)eriou0 ^oou 

For holy hands to consecrate to God, 

She leaned out from her mother's arms and took 

A single pearl-like lily from the vase — 

Herself a lily blooming into life; 

And then a tiny bird came with the breeze 

In thro' the window, and upon my flowers 

It lighted like a blessing sent from God. 

But now the birds have gone to warmer climes, 

And sing their matin songs on orange trees; 

The goldenrod has faded from the field, 

And from the boughs the chill wind shakes the leaves. 

O glorious fruit of autumn — red-ripe corn, 

And bending barley, heavy-headed wheat. 

And russet apples, chestnuts with the burrs 

Half opened by the fingers of the frost ! 

glorious days of autumn, when the sun 
Swims in a golden haze, and o'er the hills 
The grass is slowly changing ruddy brown ! 

1 went among the fields and thro' the woods. 
And plucked a dozen ears of full-ripe corn; 
I filled a basket full of forest leaves, 
Glowing with all of sunset's richest hues. 
And red-leaved boughs of oak, with acorn cups 
And stalks of grasses with their yellow seeds. 
And ferns from hollows by the brooklet's side — 
And bound the wheat and' heavy heads of rye. 
And all the grains that bounteous autumn gives. 

148 



And so I made an offering for the Lord, 

And laid it on his altar in his church. 

And when the Sabbath came, my heart was full. 

How calm the river lay beneath the banks. 

With grazing cows and vine-clad cottages 

Reflected in the mirror of its tide ! 

No breeze stirred in the tree-tops; yet the leaves 

Came fluttering downward one by one. The boys 

Walked thro' them with the keen delight of youth 

In crisp, sharp sound, and longed to run and shout. 

How mournfully the bell was tolled that morn, 

As if it felt the prescience of some grief ! 

Oh, what a prayer went winging up to God, 

As if the good old man, like Moses, stood 

Upon a Pisgah height, and talked with him. 

And brought his people's sorrows and their joys 

And laid them calmly at their Father's feet! 

And then his sermon — ah, it seems to me 

As if I ne'er should hear his like again! 

It was his last. For ere the sun was set 

The Reaper with his sickle keen had come 

And garnered him as grain full ripe for God. 



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3(ln £pore ^eriou0 ^ooU 

THE HEROES OF CUTTYHUNK 



[The British brig Aquatic from Cuba, bound for Boston, 
went ashore on the Sow and Pigs Reef off Cuttyhunk about 
half-past four o'clock on the afternoon of Friday, Feb. 24, 1893. 
The United States Life-saving Crew deemed the exploit of rescue 
too dangerous to attempt in the hurricane that was blowing and 
the high sea that was running. But a volunteer crew of six 
men — Captain Timothy Akin, Jr., Frederick Akin, Isaiah H. 
Tilton, Joseph Tilton, WilUam Brightman, and Hiram Jackson — 
attempted to put out to the wreck in the Massachusetts Humane 
Society's life-boat. They had gone only a short distance when 
they were swamped, and five of the men were drowned. Their 
families were left in the direst poverty, and immediate steps were 
taken in Boston and other cities to relieve their necessities and 
provide for their future. Universal sympathy was aroused, and 
the fund quickly amounted to over fifteen thousand dollars.] 

" "ly /TEN ! there's a brig ashore on the reef: 

J_V J Come, bear a hand for their relief ! 
The Life-saving Crew have turned back, 
For the wind is fierce and the billows are black ! 
But we can get there, never fear ! 
Who of you men will volunteer?" 

Thus spoke a seaman, bronzed and brave, 
Ready and strong to do and save. 
Five fishermen shouted their "I," "and I ": — 
Who of them thought or feared to die ? 

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31n £por^ ^mottsi £pooU 

They followed their leader down to the shore 

To enrich the world with one gallant deed more. 

Parents' and children's and loving wives' 

Joy and sorrow, hung on those lives; 

But tho' love for mother or wife or child 

Might beckon them back from the tempest wild, 

Yet still with faces set and stern, 

To Humanity's task they gallantly turn. 

No time for farewells : no parting word 

Thro' the roar of the hurricane surf would be heard; 

In silence they launch the great life-boat : 

It glides down the shelving beach, is afloat ! 

With sturdy arms they stand to the oars 

Nor heed the cold billow that over them pours. 

They are off ! they are off ! thro' the threatening comb, 

Strong as Fate, white-crested with foam 

That hides them from sight, that blinds them, that 

strives 
To swallow up their puny lives ! 
Again they rise, they conquer; the skill 
Of man with the aid of his dormant will 
Master the frenzied seas which roar 
With baffled rage on the ice-bound shore. 
Again and again they rise, they sink 
In green-black hollows which seem to shrink 
Under the mass of the toppling wave 
That covers the yawning of the grave ! 

151 



3|n ^ott ^eriou0 $pooU 

And the wind adds his fury to ocean's might. 
Great God ! how it shrieks in its swooping flight ! 
Against such allies man's strength is vain: 
With their utmost force no inch they gain. 
Up, up they mount; the crested wall 
Of solid green once more may fall 
And still they live; see! see! they bend 
With strokes of iron; must they spend 
Their manhood's might and still not save 
Those nameless strangers from the grave? 

One false stroke is their doom; if caught 
By yonder toppling mountain, naught 
Beneath the pitiless sky can help 
Those hapless heroes flung like kelp 
Amid the weltering waste of brine 
That stretches beyond the horizon line ! 

There 's a glare of sunset in the west. 
But the howling tempest knows no rest, 
And now like a horrible harpy the wind 
With a sudden swoop comes from behind. 
With his grasp like steel the captain is true 
To instinctive swerve; the hardy crew 
Make one last effort : but they are lost ! — 
Like a feather the life-boat is lightly tost 
On the edge of that monstrous shuddering wave, 
Then swallowed up in its curling cave. 

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3|n ^ore S)eriou0 ^oou 

And still on the reef the wrecked brig hung, 

Still the freezing crew to the rigging clung 

While the doomed ship strained, while the timbers 

crackt 
Beneath each breaker's cataract, 
And every moment seemed their last; 
But when the terrible night was past 
Every man was safely landed 
From the rocky sty where they had stranded. 
For the sea had accepted the sacrifice : 
Five gallant lives were the costly price. 

Death is the portion of mortals all : 
Sooner or later it must befall, 
And whether it comes by sea or land 
Makes little odds as the world is planned. 
'T is a moment's anguish and then release! 
An instant's warfare followed by peace! 
But alas for those who are suddenly left : 
Of father or husband or lover bereft, 
With poverty staring them in the face. 
With none to take the bread-winner's place. 

Ah ! but the world loves heroes ! Now 
Is the chance for the world its love to show! 
" Come to the rescue ! Pour your gold ! 
Prove that the world's heart is not cold! 

153 



Kin £pore Serious? ^ooD 

One of those men who went straight to heaven 
Left seven children — a motherless sev^n! 
Give of thy wealth that never need 
Of home or bread make their young hearts bleed ! 

Thus rang the appeal and the answer glowed 
And the saving tide of sympathy flowed ! 
Now once again we have seen defeat 
Crowned with victory lofty and sweet; 
And tho' that boat and crew were sunk 
'Neath the waves that environed Cutty hunk, 
The wreck of that vessel raised on high 
A deed of worth that shall never die ! 



154 



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